Caleb    Abbott 


CALEB    ABBOTT 


BY 


DEXTER    VINTON  J'lERCE 
WILTON,  NEW  HAMPSHIRE 


BOSTON 

FARRINGTON    PRINTING  COMPANY 
1904 


AT 


C3 


Copyright,  1904 
BY  DEXTER  VINTON  PIERCE 


Rights  of  Translation,  Public  Reading  and 
Dramatization  Reserved. 


Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  Farrington  Printing  Co. 
Boston,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A. 


PREFACE 


IN  offering  this  story  I  wish  to  impress  on  the  minds  of  the  read 
ers  that  this  is  a  simple  country  story — a  story  of  rural  life 
which  may  be  found  not  alone  in  New  Hampshire,  but  in  most 
of  the  country  districts  of  New  England.  The  characters  are 
taken  from  life,  the  story  is  founded  on  fact,  with  some  exaggerations, 
and  if  not  sensational  enough  to  suit  some — or  if  not  of  sufficient 
length  to  suit  others — remember  it  began  where  it  did  and  ended 
where  it  has.  The  auction  scene,  the  country  hotel,  the  general 
store,  and  the  town  meeting  are  all  characteristic  of  rural  life.  The 
gossip  of  the  men  around  the  country  store  is  not  overdrawn.  The 
author  has  endeavored  to  make  the  story — to  quote  from  a  letter 
from  Dr.  Abbott  to  the  author — "clean  and  sweet,  mirthful  and 
pathetic,  fresh  and  savory,  and  as  wholesome  as  the  New  Hamp 
shire  hills  amidst  which  its  scenes  are  cast."  If  my  readers  can 
agree  with  him  after  reading  its  pages  I  shall  be  satisfied  with  my 
effort. 

DEXTER  VINTON  PIERCE 

"  Maplehurst  "  Wilton,  N.  H. 


tfo  mg  Dear  cbtl&ren 

tbts  booft 
le 


Caleb  Abbott 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE    FLOOD. 

"I  think  it  safe  till  daylight,  Seth,  don't  you?" 
Thus  spoke  one  of  two  men  who  for  six  long 
hours  had  been  walking  back  and  forth  along  the 
banks  of  New  Hampshire's  greatest  stream, — the 
Merrimack.  The  rain,  which  had  been  falling  con 
tinually  for  three  days,  still  fell  in  torrents,  and 
both  men  were  drenched  to  the  skin.  They 
seemed  to  feel  but  little  fatigue,  yet  anxiety  was 
written  on  both  their  faces.  One,  Seth  Arnold, 
was  a  typical  New  England  Yankee,  a  slow-going, 
hard-working  farmer,  tall,  lean,  weather-beaten, 
withal  shrewd  and  honest.  The  other,  David  Ab 
bott,  although  himself  a  farmer,  was  a  different 
type  from  Seth ;  he  was  shorter  in  stature,  more 
solidly  built,  finer  skinned ;  and  he  had  laughing 


8  CALEB  ABBOTT 

eyes.  Both  men  were  natives  of  this  town  of 
Rushton,  and  had  been  friends  and  neighbors  all 
their  lives. 

"Yes,  David,  I  think  it  safe  till  then,  but  it  will 
have  to  go.  I  agree  with  you  that  nothing  can 
save  it;  the  water  has  risen  several  inches  since 
dark  and  is  still  rising  rapidly.  With  the  snow  not 
yet  gone  from  the  northern  hills  and  with  no  indi 
cation  of  the  rain  ceasing  there  is  no  hope." 

"Well,"  remarked  Seth,  "here  comes  the  relief 
watch,"  as  two  men  were  dimly  seen  approaching. 

"As  we  can  do  no  good  here,  we  may  as  well  go 
home,  and  get  a  cup  of  hot  coffee  and  some  rest. 
We  may  need  all  our  strength  tomorrow."  How 
true  those  words !  Little  did  they  think  that  be 
fore  another  day  should  dawn  one  of  those  sturdy 
sons  of  New  Hampshire  would  be  carried  away 
in  the  mad  waters  to  a  final  rest. 

No  one  who  lived  in  New  Hampshire  at  the 
time  our  story  begins  will  ever  forget  the  spring 
of  189--.  The  winter  had  not  been  unusually 
severe,  the  snow-fall  hardly  up  to  the  average,  but 
the  spring  was  backward;  the  ground  frozen  hard 
and  quantities  of  snow  still  lay  upon  field  and 


CALEB  ABBOTT  9 

roadway.  It  was  nearly  the  middle  of  April  when 
the  first  sign  of  spring  appeared.  The  warm  sun 
had  melted  some  of  the  snow,  but  back  among  the 
hills  and  mountains  where  the  sun  could  hardly 
penetrate  much  snow  still  remained.  Then  sud 
denly  the  wind  which  had  blown  so  long  from  the 
north  shifted  to  the  south  and  the  rain  began  to 
fall  softly  at  first  like  an  ordinary  April  shower, 
then  faster  and  fiercer  it  came  in  sheets,  until  it 
seemed  as  if  the  heavens  had  opened,  and  were 
determined  to  weep  all  at  once  all  the  tears  they 
had  been  storing  for  years.  For  three  days  and 
nights  did  it  rain;  warm,  uncomfortable  days  for 
this  time  of  the  year,  and  the  snow,  melting  fast, 
together  with  the  rain  falling  on  the  frozen 
ground,  flowed  down  the  hills  on  both  sides  of  the 
river  into  its  natural  drain,  the  river  itself,  until  it 
could  hold  no  more.  Banks  were  overflowed, 
dams  and  bridges  were  swept  away;  stock  and 
even  buildings  were  carried  down  stream,  until  for 
miles  up  the  river,  but  one  dam  remained,  the  one 
we  speak  of. 

Rushton  itself  was  a  small  village  situated  on 
the  easterly  bank  of  the  Merrimack,  though  here 


10  CALEB  ABBOTT 

and  there  was  a  farm  on  the  westerly  side,  also 
within  the  town  limits.  The  principal  business,  and 
in  fact  the  only  business  except  farming  and  lum 
bering,  was  that  of  an  extensive  paper  pulp  mill, 
whose  owners  had  erected  at  a  large  expense,  this 
great  dam,  which  had  thus  far  held  back  thousands 
of  tons  of  water.  Already  a  small  stream  was  here 
and  there  trickling  through  the  structure,  and  it 
seemed  but  a  question  of  time  before  the  whole 
structure  itself  must  give  way,  unless  the  rain 
should  cease  at  once.  Yet  up  to  the  present  time 
it  had  stood  with  almost  human  doggedness  the 
mad  rush  of  waters  hurled  at  it. 

David  Abbott  owned  a  farm  on  the  east  side  of 
the  river  a  short  way  out  from  the  main  village, 
situated  on  an  elevation  which  overlooked  the 
beautiful  towrn,  with  its  hills  beyond,  while  away 
to  the  south  like  a  great  silver  serpent  could  be 
seen  the  Merrimack  as  it  wound  along  through  the 
valley.  Far  to  the  north  could  be  seen  a  village 
or  two,  or  here  and  there  a  small  settlement; 
beyond  all  else  the  mighty  mountains. 

Arriving  home,  David  was  met  at  the  door  by 
his  excellent  wife  and  only  son,  Caleb.  The  youth 


CALEB  ABBOTT  11 

was  a  strong,  strapping  boy  of  nineteen;  nearly 
six  feet  in  his  stockings,  and  built  to  stay;  one 
would  hardly  call  him  handsome,  but  his  face,  with 
a  downy  beard  just  starting,  a  freckle  here  and 
there,  and  dark  curly  hair,  was  honest,  weather- 
burned,  and  toughened  by  New  England's  severe 
climate.  He  was  just  such  a  boy  as  you  will  find 
throughout  New  England;  the  boy  whose  home 
is  on  a  farm,  and  who  looks  the  soldier  before  the 
hard  work  in  the  field,  with  the  rather  difficult  feat 
of  plowing  on  a  side  hill,  gives  to  him  that  stoop 
or  shambling  gait  which  denotes  the  farmer's 
bodily  work. 

"Well,  father,"  they  both  asked  almost  in  a 
breath,  "what  news,  good  or  bad  ?" 

"Bad,  very  bad,"  David  replied,  "the  dam  can't 
last  another  day,  perhaps  not  another  hour.  Mat- 
tie,  can  you  give  me  a  cup  of  hot  coffee?  I'll 
change  my  coat,  and  then,  my  son,  we  will  go 
back  to  see  if  we  can  help." 

It  was  hardly  daylight  when  father  and  son  were 
ready  to  start  for  the  scene  of  trouble.  Caleb 
stooped  to  kiss  his  mother  as  was  his  habit  when 
leaving  home.  "Me,  too,"  said  his  father  and  he 


12  CALEB  ABBOTT 

laughingly  kissed  his  wife.  Just  why,  he  could  not 
tell :  it  was  many  years  since  he  had  kissed  his  wife. 
Honest,  hard  working,  old  fashioned  couple,  living 
as  many  others  do  for  years  together  in  trouble 
and  prosperity,  side  by  side,  helping  each  other, 
loving  each  other  from  year  to  year,  yet  giving  no 
signs  of  endearment.  Is  it  necessary?  Such 
people  understand  each  other,  what  a  little  thing 
a  kiss !  Yet  what  memories  sometimes  cling  to 
one,  such  a  one  as  David  then  left  on  his  wife's 
toil-worn  cheek.  What  happiness  was  wrought 
by  it  into  her  sorrow  in  the  years  that  followed ! 

Hardly  had  they  reached  the  bank  when  a  wild 
cry  of  help  was  heard  above  the  storm.  The  water 
spreading  across  both  sides  of  the  valley  had  com 
pletely  surrounded  a  small  cottage  below  the  dam. 
Even  now  the  water  reached  beyond  the  lower 
windows,  and  in  the  attic  window  was  a  woman 
with  two  small  children  frantically  calling  for  help. 

David,  rushing  to  the  water's  edge  where  now  a 
crowd  had  congregated,  asked,  "Is  no  one  going 
to  the  rescue?" 

"No,  God  help  them,  there  is  no  hope!"  said 
Seth,  who  was  already  on  the  scene.  "I  am  an  old 


CALEB  ABBOTT  13 

man,  yet  if  I  was  young  again  I  would  not  venture 
it.  See  how  the  house  divides  the  water  as  it 
rushes  both  sides  of  the  building,  a  raging  whirl 
pool." 

"There's  an  old  punt  we  just  hauled  up,"  said 
another.  "But  no  man  on  earth  could  pull 
through  that  current." 

"No,"  said  David,  "no  one  man  can  beat  those 
waters;  perhaps  two  can,  though.  Who  will  vol 
unteer  to  go  with  me?"  A  silence  fell  upon  the 
crowd.  Not  a  voice  replied. 

"Cowards,  all  of  you !"  angrily  spoke  David. 
"Then  I  go  alone!  Would  you  see  those  children 
and  that  woman  perish  before  your  eyes  without 
lifting  a  hand  to  help  them?  The  dam  is  already 
breaking  up.  Quick ;  not  a  moment  to  lose !  A 
hand  to  the  boat.  We  will  carry  it  up  stream  and 
let  it  float  down.  Run  you,  Seth,  for  a  rope  and 
grapple.  I  may  be  able  to  make  fast  to  a  window 
or  door." 

Seth  returned  with  the  rope  and  grapple  while 
willing  hands  hastily  pushed  the  boat  into  the  mad 
waters.  David  was  about  to  jump  in  himself  when 
a  voice  at  his  side  calmly  said,  "Wait !  I  will  go 


14  CALEB  ABBOTT 

with  you."  David  paused  for  a  moment  and 
looked  up  to  see  his  own  son  about  to  jump  into 
the  boat. 

"No,  no,  boy,  not  you!"  said  David.  "You 
must  stay  behind  for  your  mother's  sake.  It's 
more  than  likely  that  my  errand  will  fail." 

"No,  you  sha'n't  go  alone,"  bravely  replied 
Caleb.  "It  needs  a  strong  arm  to  battle  that  cur 
rent,  stronger  than  yours,  father;  and  if  God  sees 
fit  to  take  us  both,  God  will  also  care  for  mother." 

A  look  of  pride  crossed  his  father's  face.  "Noble 
boy,"  he  murmured;  and  then  added,  "Come  if 
you  insist.  There's  no  time  to  lose." 

In  another  instant  the  current  had  caught  the 
boat,  carrying  it  directly  and  swiftly  toward  the 
house.  Caleb  had  grasped  the  oars  and  was  doing 
his  best  to  retard  the  onward  flight,  while  his 
father  stood  ready  \vith  the  grapple.  Another 
instant  and  the  boat  shot  straight  at  the  house. 
Quick  as  a  flash  it  was  made  fast ;  the  grapple  had 
held !  A  mighty  cheer  went  up  from  the  crowd  on 
shore. 

"You  are  the  strongest,  Caleb,  and  will  need 
all  your  strength  in  the  battle  to  come.  I  will  go 


CALEB  ABBOTT  15 

in  after  the  woman  and  children."  The  waters 
now  reached  within  a  few  feet  of  the  window 
where  the  sufferers  were  clinging,  and  David, 
drawing  himself  into  the  window,  passed  the 
children  and  then  the  woman  through  the  window 
to  his  son  below.  The  grapple  had  held  against 
the  mighty  force  up  to  this  time,  but  just  as  David 
swung  himself  through  the  window  with  one  last 
effort,  the  sill  gave  way.  The  boat  shot  forty  feet 
down  the  stream  and  David  dropped  into  the  water 
below. 

Two  cries,  "Mattie!"  "Caleb!"  and  then  the  cold 
icy  waters  hurled  him  hither  and  thither,  now  up, 
now  down  in  the  mad  waters,  rushing,  gurgling. 
.  .  .  Three  days  later  they  found  David  Abbott's 
body  far  down  the  valley.  The  waters  had  receded, 
leaving  it  in  a  clump  of  bushes  where  it  had  been 
caught.  One  of  God's  noblemen  gone  home  to 
rest. 

:'f  *  :j<  *  * 

If  you  are  driving  with  a  native  of  New  Hamp 
shire  through  any  small  village  you  will  be  told  the 
history  of  such  a  village  in  a  remarkably  short 
time:  "Jmi  Johnson  lives  in  that  shanty  down 


16  CALEB  ABBOTT 

there;  he's  a  no  good,  hot  (drunk)  'bout  all  the 
time;  goes  fishing  in  the  spring,  gunning  in  the 
fall,  and  down  to  the  County  Farm  in  the  winter. 
Get's  a  five  spec  or  barrel  of  flour  for  his  vote 
'lection  time,  when  the  X  Y  &  Z  have  a  man  run 
ning  for  the  legislature;  that's  'bout  all  he  does 
earn."  "Becky  Farnsworth  lives  over  there  in  that 
white  house.  She's  a  widder,  pretty  well-to-do, 
too.  Her  old  man  used  to  be  road-agent ;  got  fif 
teen  hundred  a  year  out  the  town  to  fix  up  the 
highways,  and  spent  'bout  five  hundred  of  it. 
Stole  the  rest,  I  figure.  Then,  that's  nothing  agin 
him.  They  all  do  it  if  they  get  the  chance."  "See 
that  big  square  house  up  on  the  hill?  Deacon 
Cummings  lives  up  there.  Worth  fifty  thousand, 
so  they  say." 

So  runs  on  the  narrative  throughout  the  whole 
list  of  inhabitants.  You  wonder  how  Deacon 
Cummings  ever  got  fifty  thousand  together  in  this 
out  of  the  way  place.  Yet  every  village  has  its 
Deacon  Cummings;  every  Deacon  Cummings  has 
his  barrel.  Let  us  stop  a  moment,  perhaps  we  can 
figure  it  out ;  after  all,  it  is  very  simple.  The  pro 
verbial  Deacon  gets  all  the  ready  money  there  is 


CALEB  ABBOTT  17 

in  town,  and  after  getting  it  he  keeps  it.  If  he 
begins  business  at  twenty,  at  seventy  he  has  accu 
mulated  all  the  money  in  circulation  in  the  village 
and  it  naturally  increases  in  the  fifty  years.  The 
Deacon  keeps  the  general  store,  perhaps  the  only 
store  for  miles  around,  and  the  sign  reads  some 
thing  like  this :  "Olando  W.  Cummings,  Dealer 
in  Dry  Goods  &  Groceries ;  Boots  &  Shoes ;  Hay 
&  Grain;  Tobacco  &  Cigars;  Paints  &  Oils,  Hard 
ware,  Tinware,  Crockery  &  Glass-ware,  Ready- 
made  Clothing;  Gents'  Furnishing  Goods;  Hats  & 
Caps;  Notions,  etc.,  etc.,  etc.,  Fish  Hooks  & 
Coffins;  Stoves  &  Ranges  a  specialty:  Teaming 
done." 

The  farmers  from  'Slab  City,  Mud  Village, 
Sketer  Holler,  Punkinville  and  other  outlying  dis 
tricts,  as  well  as  the  villagers  in  which  the  store  is 
situated,  bring  in  their  eggs  and  produce  in  ex 
change  for  store  goods.  Thus  Olando  Cummings 
makes  a  profit  on  both  ends.  Olando  Cummings 
also  buys  timber  top ;  and  runs  a  portable  mill. 
Lumber  is  shipped  to  the  market  for  cash.  He 
also  deals  in  insurance,  real  estate,  and  mortgages. 
Mortgages  bring  interest ;  interest  is  cash.  In  fact 


18  CALEB  ABBOTT 

everything  that  Olando  Cummings  touches  turns 
into  cash,  and  that  cash  never  gets  circulated  in 
the  town  again,  but  is  laid  away  in  good  securi 
ties  and  investments  to  accumulate  still  farther. 
That  is  how  Deacon  Cummings  becomes  the  rich 
est  man  of  the  town. 

That  is  how  Cyrus  Whitney  got  to  be  the  rich 
est  man  in  Rushton.  Cyrus  was  a  widower  with 
one  child,  an  only  daughter  just  budding  into 
womanhood.  Handsome,  bright  and  generous, 
she  was  in  direct  contrast  to  her  grasping  father, 
who  was  a  hard-visaged  man  of  sixty,  tall,  lank  in 
figure,  and  endowed  with  a  squeaking  voice. 

Their  home  was  situated  on  a  hill  overlooking 
the  village.  The  farm  for  the  most  part  lay  slop 
ing  to  the  south;  with  the  house,  itself  almost  a 
mansion;  large,  square,  colonial  style;  wide  veran 
das  on  two  sides;  gravelled  driveways  leading  up 
to  it  both  from  the  north  and  south,  lined  on  either 
side  with  spreading,  old-growth  maples.  It  was 
indeed  an  imposing  place.  Far  from  cheerless  was 
the  interior.  Much  of  the  furniture  had  descended 
from  grandfather  to  father  and  from  father  to  son. 
It  was  old  fashioned  of  course,  and  a  large  part  of 


CALEB  ABBOTT  19 

it  was  massive,  heavy  mahogany.  The  walls  were 
papered  with  big  patterns ;  the  studding  was  high ; 
and  open  fireplaces  in  many  of  the  rooms  sug 
gested  hospitality. 

Seated  before  a  roaring  open  fire  sat  Cyrus 
Whitney  and  his  daughter,  Hilda,  for  Cyrus  was 
troubled  with  rheumatism  and  the  three  days'  rain 
had  sent  a  chill  even  into  this  snug  living  room. 
The  flames  lit  up  with  a  ruddy  glow,  falling  alike 
on  the  lantern  jaw  of  father  and  the  peach-like 
cheek  of  daughter. 

"But,  father,  I  am  serious;  they  say  the  dam  will 
go,  and  think  of  the  poor  in  the  valley  below. 
Then,  perhaps  I  can  be  of  some  help.  Almost 
everyone  in  the  village  is  there,  watching  and  wait 
ing  to  do  what  good  he  or  she  can  while  we  sit 
here  warm  and  comfortable  without  lifting  our 
hand  or  even  saying  a  word  to  help  the  unfortu 
nate." 

"Humph !"  replied  her  father,  lowering  his 
paper  for  a  moment  and  glancing  at  his  daughter 
over  his  spectacles,  "Let  them  take  care  of  them 
selves.  What  do  they  live  down  there  in  the  damp 
valley  for?  They  take  their  chances.  I  stand  to 


20  CALEB  ABBOTT 

lose  as  much  as  they.  There's  hardly  a  farm  in  the 
valley  that  I  have  not  a  claim  upon.  If  they  are 
washed  away  don't  I  lose?" 

"Yes,  father,  perhaps,"  rather  doubtfully.  "But 
you  only  own  a  part  of  each  farm  and  your  claims 
are  secured.  Think  of  the  poor  farmer  who  has 
almost  nothing,  and  can  raise  no  crops  this  year. 
Then  again  lives  even  may  be  in  danger." 

"Well!  you  have  been  out  in  rains  before,  I 
guess  this  won't  hurt  you,  either.  Go  if  you  want 
to,  but  don't  go  doing  anything  foolish,  or  prom 
ising  any  relief  from  me.  I  won't  have  it.  See? 
They  have  made  their  beds.  Let  them  lie  on 
them.  And  Hilda,  don't  go  and  bring  any  half 
starved,  broken-limbed  old  man  or  woman  here, 
because  I  won't  let  them  in." 

So,  as  he  had  had  his  say  and  had  yielded  to  his 
daughter's  wish  to  go  out  into  the  storm,  as  he 
usually  did  yield  to  his  only  daughter,  when  he 
was  not  hurting  his  own  interests,  he  took  up  the 
Manchester  Union,  chuckling  to  himself  as  he 
thought,  "If  they  can't  raise  any  crops  this  year 
why  they  can't  pay  their  interest  and  the  farms  will 
be  mine  through  foreclosure,"  while  reading  at  the 


CALEB  ABBOTT  21 

same  time  the  reporters'  tales  of  what  was  taking 
place  at  his  very  door. 

Hilda,  stopping  only  to  put  on  proper  garments, 
went  out  into  the  driving  storm  and  hastened 
toward  the  dam  to  see  if  her  small  hands  could  in 
any  way  help  some  poor  unfortunate.  When 
nearly  to  the  fated  dam  she  heard  a  faint  rumbling, 
then  with  a  mighty  crash  and  roar  the  entire  centre 
of  the  dam  gave  way,  releasing  the  vast  body  of 
water  which  it  had  held  back.  It  had  been  a 
mighty  battle  between  the  science  of  man  and  the 
unseen  mysteries  of  nature,  but  nature  had  won  at 
last.  It  was  indeed  a  scene  never  to  be  forgotten. 
Pausing  only  for  an  instant,  Hilda  hurried  below 
where  she  could  see  the  crowd  of  watchers  on  the 
bank,  and  among  them  two  men  carrying  some 
one  on  a  door,  which  had  been  pressed  into  ser 
vice  for  a  litter. 

When  Caleb  saw  his  father  disappear  his  first 
thought  was  to  save  him  if  possible.  But  as  the 
boat  rushed  down  the  stream  and  he  could  see 
nothing  of  David,  he  realized  with  anguish  that 
nothing  could  be  done;  that  his  father  was  lost. 
There  was  no  time  for  sorrow  then.  He  must  do 


22  CALEB  ABBOTT 

his  best  to  save  the  woman  and  children  for  whose 
lives  his  brave  father  had  given  up  his  own.  With 
a  strength  almost  superhuman,  Caleb  headed 
the  boat  inshore,  but  do  as  he  would  he  could 
not  gain  a  foot,  the  old  flat-bottom  boat, 
square  at  both  bow  and  stern,  could  not  be 
steered,  but  continually  swung  around  and 
around  in  the  rapidly  flowing  waters.  Some 
thing  had  to  be  done,  and  done  quickly.  With 
one  last  effort  he  headed  the  boat  toward 
shore,  and  luckily  was  caught  in  a  current  which 
carried  him  some  distance  nearer  the  bank  than 
before.  Quickly  standing  up  and  grasping  the 
rope  and  grapple,  Caleb  hurled  it  with  all  his 
might  toward  the  shore.  Caleb  was  unusually 
strong;  he  had  been  an  adept  on  the  crew  at  col 
lege,  and  his  strength  and  science  did  him  good 
service  today.  The  grapple  held.  It  had  caught 
in  some  clump  of  bushes  in  the  meadow  beneath 
the  waters.  Though  they  were  still  far  from  shore, 
the  waters  were  here  somewhat  calmer,  and  Caleb, 
catching  the  rope  which  was  still  tied  to  the  boat, 
pulled  until  they  neared  the  grapple.  Then, 
quickly  slashing  the  rope  with  his  knife,  he  re- 


CALEB  ABBOTT  23 

turned  to  his  oars,  and  again  fought  for  victory. 
Inch  by  inch  he  neared  the  shore.  The  crowd  all 
the  time  followed  at  the  water's  edge,  cheering  and 
encouraging  him  by  shouts,  as  the  boat  still  drifted 
far  inland.  At  last  the  shore  was  reached,  but  even 
before  it  was  reached  willing  hands  had  dragged 
the  boat  to  safety,  just  as  the  dam  gave  way. 

"Oh!  who  is  it?  Can  you  do  nothing?  Is  he 
dead?"  Hilda  cried. 

"No,  he  ain't  dead,  but  he's  dead  blowed. 
Guess  he's  lost  'bout  all  his  wind,"  some  one 
replied. 

"It's  Caleb  Abbott,"  spoke  another.  "He  just 
saved  a  woman  and  two  children ;  Fred  Anderson's 
woman  and  kids.  Fred's  off  on  a  drunk  some 
where.  He  went  off  last  night  and  left  'em  all 
alone,  and  when  they  woke  up  this  morning  the 
house  was  surrounded  by  water.  Wonder  it  didn't 
float  off  before.  But  it's  gone  now  all  right.  The 
boy  didn't  have  any  time  to  spare." 

"Brave,  noble  Caleb!"  said  Hilda  softly.  "Are 
they  taking  him  home  ?  If  so  I  will  run  ahead  and 
tell  Mrs.  Abbott  not  to  be  alarmed." 


24  CALEB  ABBOTT 

"Yes,  miss,  that's  where  they  are  taking  him," 
replied  one  of  the  men. 

Hilda  ran  on  toward  the  house,  and  met  Mrs. 
Abbott  in  the  doorway.  She  told  her  not  to  be 
alarmed,  even  though  friends  were  bringing  Caleb 
home.  "He  is  not  hurt;  he  has  only  fainted  from 
exhaustion." 

"But  David?"  cried  Mrs.  Abbott.  "What  of 
David?" 

"They  did  not  mention  your  husband,"  replied 
Hilda.  "Perhaps  he  is  with  them.  I  did  not 
notice,  because  I  ran  away  at  once  to  tell  you 
about  Caleb." 

In  the  meantime  the  men  with  the  litter  had 
arrived,  and  although  Caleb  insisted  that  he  was 
himself  again,  they  brought  him  in,  and  sat  him 
in  the  great  armchair  by  the  fire.  Mrs.  Abbott, 
in  the  care  and  anxiety  for  Caleb,  forgot  for  the 
time  being  the  absence  of  David.  Hilda,  however, 
inquiring  of  Seth  where  David  was,  learned  the 
truth  from  Seth,  who  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  told 
her  the  brave  story.  Her  kind  heart  wept  in 
sorrow  for  the  widow.  In  fact  the  loss  was  her 
own  sorrow,  too.  David,  and  his  kindly  ways, 


CALEB  ABBOTT  25 

were  very  familiar  to  her.  He  always  had  a  pleas 
ant  word  for  everybody  and  often  stopped  to  talk 
with  her  and  in  a  friendly  way  to  tell  her  how 
handsome  she  was  growing.  Hilda  and  Caleb  had 
been  schoolmates  together,  and  she  had  always 
been  welcome  at  the  Abbott  farm,  but  since  her 
father  had  grown  so  rich  he  had  forbidden  her 
calling  at  the  Abbott  home.  But  Caleb  she  could 
never  forget,  and  when  they  met  by  chance  they 
had  many  a  pleasant  chat  together. 

Hilda,  returning  into  the  house,  saw  Caleb  still 
sitting  in  the  great  armchair,  while  his  mother  had 
just  asked  him  of  his  father.  With  a  forced  smile 
he  greeted  Hilda,  holding  out  his  hand,  which  she 
willingly  took  as  he  asked,  "How  do  I  look  as  an 
invalid?" 

Hilda  could  she  have  answered  as  her  heart 
prompted  would  have  said  that  she  never  had  seen 
a  nobler  or  handsomer  invalid;  but  she  simply 
replied  that  she  had  heard  of  his  daring  rescue  and 
hoped  he  would  soon  be  better. 

"Oh,  I  am  all  right  now,"  replied  Caleb.  "Just 
a  little  tired;  that's  all." 

"But  father!"  said  Mrs.  Abbott.     "You  haven't 


26  CALEB  ABBOTT 

told  me  of  him.  Is  he  hurt?  You  are  keeping 
something  from  me,  Caleb;  what  is  it?  Tell  me, — 
he  can't  be  lost !" 

"Yes,  mother,"  said  Caleb,  laying  his  hand  lov 
ingly  on  her  silvery  hair,  while  her  head  dropped 
on  his  knee.  "Father  has  gone  home  to  rest,"  and 
Hilda  stole  softly  out  of  the  room,  leaving  them 
alone  with  their  great  sorrow. 


CHAPTER  II. 

LOOKING    THE    FUTURE    IN    THE    FACE. 

A  few  days  after  the  funeral,  which  had  been 
largely  attended,  for  David  was  a  favorite  with  old 
and  young,  Caleb  and  his  mother  sat  alone  dis 
cussing  the  future.  It  had  been  news  to  them  and 
sad  news  indeed  coming  as  it  did  at  this  time  to 
know  that  Cyrus  Whitney  held  a  mortgage  on 
their  home  for  five  hundred  dollars.  The  amount 
alone  would  have  caused  Caleb  no  uneasiness  had 
it  been  held  by  some  other  party,  or  had  the  rate 
of  interest  been  the  usual  six  per  cent.  But  Shy- 
lock  Whitney,  as  he  was  usually  called,  did  not 
lend  money  at  six  per  cent.  His  interest  often 
amounted  to  more  than  the  principal  in  a  year  or 
two,  and  the  farmers  who  were  so  unfortunate  as 
to  get  into  his  clutches  seldom  got  out  of  them, 
taking  as  it  did  all  the  money  they  could  raise  to 
meet  the  interest  alone,  without  paying  the  prin- 


28  CALEB  ABBOTT 

cipal.  David  Abbott,  when  he  borrowed  the 
money,  saw  his  way  clear,  or  thought  he  did,  to 
meet  both  principal  and  interest  in  a  short  time, 
and  not  wishing  to  worry  his  wife  and  son,  kept 
the  matter  to  himself.  It  is  true  that  his  wife  had 
also  signed  the  note;  but  with  perfect  faith  in  her 
husband  she  gave  her  signature,  with  little 
thought  at  the  time. 

For  years  there  had  been  a  tract  of  woodland  on 
the  Abbott  farm,  and  David,  when  Caleb  was  a 
little  boy,  used  to  take  him  by  the  hand  and  point 
ing  to  the  trees  then  in  their  infancy  would  say, 
"Those,  my  son,  are  yours ;  that  is  your  schooling, 
your  education."  And  Caleb,  not  quite  under 
standing,  would  say,  "Yes,  papa."  Caleb  grew 
and  the  trees  grew,  too ;  pine,  hemlock  and  spruce, 
until  now  the  timber  had  gotten  its  growth,  and 
the  little  boy  had  almost  reached  his  manhood. 
So  these  trees,  these  sacred  trees,  had  remained 
untouched  all  these  years  until  this  past  winter, 
when  David  had  begun  to  fell  them ;  working  in  all 
sorts  of  weather,  getting  the  logs  ready  for  use, 
some  for  market,  some  for  the  pulp  mill.  He  had 
been  obliged  to  hire  help,  and  he  had  also  bought 


CALEB  ABBOTT  29 

a  pair  of  horses  in  order  to  market  the  timber  at 
once.  It  was  for  this  purpose  that  he  had  raised 
the  money  on  his  farm  from  Cyrus  Whitney. 

In  fact,  it  was  only  a  few  days  before  the  storm 
that  the  last  logs  were  hauled  from  the  woods  to 
the  river  bank  to  be  floated  down  stream  when  the 
rains  and  melting  snows  should  flood  the  river. 
How  well  the  river  was  flooded  we  already  know. 
David,  like  many  others  in  this  valley,  had  he 
lived,  would  have  been  ruined.  The  logs  had  been 
held  back  until  the  dam  gave  way  and  then  they, 
with  those  of  many  others,  were  swept  away  down 
the  river.  Thousands  of  feet  of  timber;  a  winter's 
work ;  and  five  hundred  dollars  gone  in  a  moment ! 
The  logs  were  scattered  no  one  knew  where,  and 
a  total  loss  was  the  result. 

As  the  interest  on  the  mortgage  was  now  almost 
due,  it  was  this  matter  which  was  under  discus 
sion. 

"Mother,"  said  Caleb,  "there  is  but  one  thing 
to  do,  and  that  must  be  done  at  once.  We  must 
dispose  of  some  stock.  I  won't  sell  the  horses 
because  I  expect  them  to  help  us  make  a  living. 
The  dam  will  be  rebuilt;  there  are  roads  and 


30  CALEB  ABBOTT 

bridges  to  be  repaired,  foundations  to  be  relaid, 
and  many  other  things  to  be  done  that  will  require 
lots  of  teaming.  The  rate  of  pay  around  here  for 
a  man  and  pair  of  horses  is  three  fifty  a  day,  and  I 
don't  see  how  I  could  earn  more  at  present. 
Luckily  we  have  hay  enough  to  carry  us  through, 
and  also  some  grain.  I  propose  to  turn  teamster. 
The  farm  work  I  will  do  before  and  after  hours, 
but  I  can't  take  care  of  ten  head  of  cattle  alone, 
and  we  can't  afford  to  hire  help.  There  is  no 
money,  I  know  positively,  in  selling  milk  to  the 
milk  trust,  although  father  thought  there  was. 
What  I  propose  to  do  with  your  permission  is  to 
sell  six  cows,  keeping  the  two  Jerseys  and  two 
Ayeshires  for  butter.  Joe  Frye  over  in  Weed  Vil 
lage  offered  father  two  hundred  dollars  for  the  four 
Holsteins  a  few  weeks  ago.  I  shall  see  him,  and 
if  his  offer  still  holds  good  we  can  pay  the  present 
interest.  Then  with  the  proceeds  from  the  other 
two  cows,  which  being  farrow  won't  bring  much, 
we  can  pay  the  funeral  expenses  and  the  grocer's 
bill.  These,  mother,  are  my  suggestions;  if  you 
can  think  of  any  other  better  way  out  of  our  diffi 
culties  please  say  so." 


CALEB  ABBOTT  31 

"No,  Caleb,"  replied  Mrs.  Abbott,  "I  can  see  no 
other  way.  In  fact  I  think  your  plan  is  the  only 
way,  although  I  dislike  to  think  of  your  doing 
such  heavy  work  together  with  the  farm  duties. 
You  are  fitted  for  something  better  than  a  day 
laborer.  Your  father  always  wanted  you  to 
become  a  lawyer." 

"Yes,  and  perhaps  I  might  have  been,  had  he 
lived.  Poor  Father!  He  had  great  hopes  for  me. 
But  fate  has  ruled  otherwise.  The  lawyer  must  go. 
For  the  present  at  least  I  must  work  at  what  can 
bring  the  most  money.  I  am  young;  perhaps  in 
the  future  I  shall  be  something  more  than  a 
laborer,"  said  Caleb,  with  emphasis. 

"Well,"  said  his  mother,  in  reply,  "we  can  work 
together.  There  are  only  two  of  us  now,"  sadly. 
"You  will  be  away  all  day,  so  that  I  can  help  quite 
a  little  myself.  I  can  make  butter,  and  I  shall  raise 
more  chickens.  In  fact  I  see  no  reason  why  our 
egg-  and  butter-money  won't  pay  our  living  ex 
penses,  so  that  you  can  have  your  wages  to  your 
self." 

"Yes,  mother;  you  are  bound  to  help.     With  all 


32  CALEB  ABBOTT 

your  cares  and  work  you  are  still  looking  for 
more." 

"Why  Caleb,"  replied  his  mother,  "I  shall  have 
lots  of  time  to  myself.  I  want  something  to  keep 
me  busy.  This  is  light  labor  and  will  keep  me 
from  getting  lonely  while  you  are  away." 

"Well,  mother,  if  you  insist  on  adding  these  new 
duties  to  yourself  I  won't  object;  but  we  are  keep 
ing  late  hours.  This  won't  do  for  a  laboring  man. 
It  is  already  ten  o'clock,  and  I  have  all  I  can  do 
tomorrow."  So  Caleb  kissed  his  mother,  and  tak 
ing  up  his  lamp  proceeded  upstairs  to  bed. 

Boyhood  days  are  over.  Tomorrow,  Caleb,  you 
enter  into  a  new  life — labor. 

In  the  general  store  and  at  the  post  office  the 
flood  was  still  the  general  topic  of  discussion.  As 
usual  in  the  evening  the  "regulars"  were  hanging 
around  the  store.  The  nights  were  still  cold  and  a 
brisk  wood  fire  burned  in  the  great  stove  in  the 
centre  of  the  store.  Seated  around  the  stove  were 
Seth  Arnold,  Hen  Gilson,  Deacon  Patch,  Ed  Bean 
and  several  others  of  minor  importance. 

"Well,"  said  Ed,  "now  David  has  gone,  I  guess 


CALEB  ABBOTT  33 

his  boy  will  have  to  come  down  off  his  high  hoss, 
and  go  to  work." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so,"  said  the  Deacon.  "And  I 
guess  he  can  do  it  too.  Mark  my  words,  he  won't 
lose  any  time  doin'  it,  either.  He's  a  likely  young 
feller.  'Twan't  all  his  doin's  going  to  college.  His 
father  wanted  to  cut  him  out  for  a  lawyer." 

"And  you  can't  blame  him  any,  either,"  spoke 
up  Seth.  "What's  farming  amount  to?  You  get 
a  living,  that's  all.  And  if  things  don't  go  right,  or 
if  the  weather  goes  wrong,  a  mighty  poor  living  at 
that  you  get !  Everything  is  Trusts  now-a-days, 
and  a  poor  man  ain't  got  any  show.  You've  got 
to  sell  milk  to  the  milk  trust  and  let  them  make  the 
price.  Then  you've  got  to  buy  grain  of  the  milk 
trust  and  let  them  make  the  price  on  that;  then 
there's  your  surplus;  and  when  you  settle  up 
you're  mighty  lucky  if  you  don't  owe  the  milk 
trust  something.  If  you've  got  a  little  timber 
you've  got  to  sell  that  to  a  trust.  Even  your  eggs ! 
In  fact  you  ain't  got  any  show  at  all  now-a-days  on 
a  farm."  So  saying,  Seth  crossed  one  long  leg 
over  the  other,  and,  borrowing  a  match  from  Hen, 


34  CALEB  ABBOTT 

proceeded   to   light   his   corn-cob  pipe,   while   he 
meditated  on  the  wrongs  in  this  world. 

''Well,"  said  Ed,  "he's  got  a  light  smart  team 
of  horse  flesh,  and  he  himself  is  as  strong  as  an  ox. 
He  can  get  all  the  work  he  wants,  too.  I  heard 
something  'bout  his  doing  teaming." 

"The  boy  ought  to  do  well,"  said  the  Deacon, 
in  reply.  "He's  got  the  whole  town  back  of  him ; 
'tain't  many  would  have  done  what  he  did,  rescu 
ing  Jim  Anderson's  folks.  'Tain't  many  could 
'a'  done  it,  either." 

"Speaking  of  Anderson,"  said  Seth,  "they  say 
old  Shylock  got  bit  there.  Had  a  mortgage  on 
the  place,  and  now  there  ain't  no  place  left ;  house 
and  building  floated  away,  and  no  land  left  that 
you  could  realize  on.  I  wouldn't  swap  my  year 
ling  for  what's  left,  and  they  say  Cyrus  had  six 
hundred  on  it." 

"Well,  old  Shylock  can  stand  it,  I  guess,"  said 
another.  "He's  got  a  mortgage  on  'bout  every 
thing  in  this  town." 

"Well,  Ned,"  exclaimed  Seth,  rising  with  a  yawn 
and  addressing  the  clerk  who  had  been  an  earnest 
listener  to  their  conversation,  "put  me  up  'bout 


CALEB  ABBOTT  35 

five  pounds  sugar,  and  a  cod  fish,  and  a  piece  ter- 
baca.  Guess  I'll  be  poking  along."  Seth's  depart 
ure  broke  up  the  meeting  for  that  night,  and  soon 
all  departed  for  their  respective  homes  to  meet 
again  on  the  morrow. 

Bright  and  early  Caleb  rose.  The  sun  had  not 
yet  risen,  but  looking  out  his  window  he  saw  the 
whole  east  lighted  up  in  a  blaze  of  glory.  Hastily 
dressing  he  went  down  stairs,  and  after  starting  a 
fire  for  his  mother  and  putting  on  a  kettle  of  fresh 
water,  he  went  to  the  barn  to  do  his  chores  with 
a  kind  word  to  horses  and  cattle  alike.  He  fed 
them  with  a  generous  hand,  and  soon  the  familiar 
crunch,  crunch,  crunch,  a  sound  so  musical  to  all 
who  love  stock,  fell  pleasantly  on  his  ears,  as  the 
critters  munched  their  feed. 

Have  you  ever  been  up  before  sunrise  in  the 
country,  and  worked  or  walked  for  an  hour  or  two 
before  breakfast?  If  not,  try  it  some  time,  it  is 
well  \vorth  the  effort ;  and  it  is  better  medicine 
than  all  the  spring  tonics  in  the  world. 

Breakfast  was  all  ready  and  steaming  hot  when 
Caleb  returned  to  the  kitchen.  Hot  corn  bread, 
hasty  pudding,  fried  salt  pork  and  eggs,  fried-over 


36  CALEB  ABBOTT 

potatoes,  and  coffee  with  cream.  Caleb  thought 
it  was  a  breakfast  good  enough  for  a  laboring  man. 
Of  course  the  man  of  wealth  would  have  his  fruit, 
a  miniature  chop,  or  perhaps  a  small  tenderloin; 
or  if  he  had  eggs,  bacon  would  be  served  instead  of 
salt  pork.  But  after  all  there  is  not  much  differ 
ence  in  the  food  of  wealth  and  that  of  the  ordinary 
family. 

After  breakfast  Caleb  returned  to  the  barn, 
cleaned  the  horses  and  hitched  Jack,  the  off  horse, 
into  the  family  democrat  and  started  for  Weed 
Village  to  see  Joe  Frye  about  selling  the  cattle. 
The  blue  birds  had  appeared  and  were  flitting 
about  from  one  apple  tree  to  another,  looking  for 
the  old  familiar  hole  where  they  were  to  build  their 
nests  and  start  housekeeping  for  another  season. 
The  pussy  willows  had  already  burst  forth.  Here 
and  there  a  chipmunk  saucily  perched  himself  on 
some  wall  top,  and,  on  being  discovered,  with  a 
shrill  chirp  disappeared  from  view.  The  sun  was 
bright,  the  air  balmy.  The  winter  was  over,  and 
the  whole  world  seemed  glad.  Weed  Village  was 
an  eight  miles'  drive  up  hill  and  down.  Caleb  saw 


CALEB  ABBOTT  37 

a  familiar  face  or  two  and  passed  the  time  of  day 
with  them. 

"Pretty  good  doin's,"  greeted  Seth,  who  was 
topping  the  walls  around  his  pasture,  getting 
ready  to  turn  the  cattle  out. 

"Yes,"  replied  Caleb,  "the  rains  have  left  the 
roads  good  and  hard  where  they  haven't  washed 
them  away." 

"Frost's  all  out  of  the  ground,"  said  Seth, 
"guess  ploughing'll  take  hold  next  week." 

"Yes,"   replied   Caleb,  with  a  laugh,    "I   guess 

I'll  have  to  put  my  hand  to  the  plough  this  year." 

'Twon't  hurt  you  any,  boy,"  answered  Seth,  as 

Caleb  drove  off;  "only  don't  get  in  the  rut  and 

follow  it  all  your  life." 

"Good  morning,  Caleb,"  said  a  bright,  sweet 
voice.  Caleb  started.  He  had  been  busy  with  his 
thoughts  about  the  mortgage.  What  if  he  could 
not  raise  the  money  to  meet  the  interest? 
What  if  Joe  Frye  would  not  buy  the  cattle? 
Then  they  would  be  turned  out  of  their  pleasant 
home !  For  a  moment  Caleb  hated  the  man  in 
whose  power  he  was,  but  the  hatred  disappeared 
from  his  face  and  a  smile  spread  over  his  features 


38  CALEB  ABBOTT 

as  he  saw  the  daughter  of  this  very  man  standing 
by  the  roadside  to  let  him  pass.  How  lovely  she 
was,  with  a  bunch  of  pussy  willows  in  one  hand, 
while  with  the  other  she  daintily  held  up  her  skirts. 

"Oh!  good  morning,  Hilda,"  replied  Caleb,  to 
her  greeting.  "I  almost  passed  without  seeing 
you." 

"Yes,"  laughingly  replied  Hilda,  "if  I  had  not 
saluted  you  I  think  you  would  have  run  over  me." 

"I  am  sorry  I  was  so  stupid,"  he  replied,  "I  was 
busy  with  my  thoughts." 

"Can  I  buy  them  ?"  sweetly  asked  Hilda.  "You 
know  the  old  saying,  'a.  penny  for  your  thoughts'. 
I  really  think  by  the  way  you  looked  it  would  be 
a  'good  investment,'  as  father  would  say."  But 
she  quickly  added,  seeing  his  brow  darken  at  her 
father's  name,  "Never  mind,  I  won't  try  to  buy 
them  today.  Isn't  it  a  grand  morning?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Caleb,  "a  perfect  day.  Is  your 
father  at  home  ?" 

"Yes,  and  he  will  be  at  home  all  day,  for  al 
though  the  sky  is  so  bright  he  is  suffering  from 
his  rheumatism  badly.  Did  you  wish  to  see  him  ?" 


CALEB  ABBOTT  39 

"No,  not  now.  Perhaps  when  I  come  back 
from  Weed  Village.  I  am  sorry  he  suffers  so." 

"So  you  are  going  to  Weed  Village?"  exclaimed 
Hilda.  "Well,  don't  let  me  detain  you;  it's  a  long, 
hard  drive.  Good-bye." 

"Good-bye,"  said  Caleb.  Looking  back  he  saw 
her  standing  there  by  the  roadside  still  gazing 
after  him.  And  he  thought  how  handsome  and 
womanly  she  had  grown  lately.  It  seemed  but 
such  a  short  time  ago  since  they  had  gone  romp 
ing  through  the  meadows  together  for  flowers, 
gathered  nuts  together  in  the  fall,  or  coasted  on 
the  same  sled  in  the  winter.  With  a  sigh  he 
thought  of  the  difference  between  them  now;  she 
the  daughter  of  the  richest  man  in  Rushton,  he  a 
laboring  man.  But  he  vowed  to  himself  that  some 
day  he  would  be  rich  himself;  something  more 
than  a  laborer;  and  then,  if  she  was  still  free— 
"But  get  up,  Jack,"  ended  his  dreaming. 

And  Hilda?  Her  memory,  too,  went  back  to 
those  happy  school  days;  she  thought  how  Caleb 
had  changed.  He  seemed  so  serious,  and  even 
worried.  He  used  to  be  brimful  of  fun  and 


40  CALEB  ABBOTT 

laughter,  but  now  even  his  smile  for  her  seemed 
forced. 

Still  thinking  of  Hilda,  Caleb  arrived  at  Joe 
Frye's.  Susie  Frye  came  to  the  door.  She  had 
seen  the  team  coming  into  the  yard,  and  in  an 
swer  to  Caleb's  inquiry  for  Joe,  said  with  a  giggle 
(Susie  Frye  always  giggled  when  she  spoke  to  a 
man).  "Yes,  Joe's  round  somewhere;  guess  he's 
down  to  the  south  pasture.  He  spoke  of  putting 
up  some  barbed-wire  there  today.  'Most  time  to 
turn  the  critters  out.  Drive  your  horse  in  the  shed 
and  I'll  holler  to  him."  So  saying,  Susie  walked 
down  the  lane,  and  "hollering"  as  only  a  country 
girl  can,  until  Joe  came  "poking  up"  into  sight. 

"What  is  it,  Sue?" 

"Caleb  Abbott's  come  to  see  you  'bout  some 
thing,"  Sue  replied. 

"Oh!"  said  Joe,  "I  guess  it's  about  them  Hoi- 
steins." 

"Got  ready  to  sell  them  yet,  Caleb?"  he  asked 
of  Caleb,  who  had  also  come  down  the  lane  and 
joined  the  brother  and  sister. 

"Yes,  I'll  come  right  down  to  business.  I  am 
going  to  sell  them,  and  as  you  made  father  a  fair 


CALEB  ABBOTT  41 

offer  I  thought  I  would  see  you.     If  your  offer 
still  holds  good,  you  can  have  them." 

"Well,"  drawled  Joe,  "I  did  make  your  father  a 
good  offer  some  time  ago.  Two  hundred  I  think 
it  was.  But  they  were  just  in  then,  they  ain't 
worth  that  now." 

"I  don't  know  about  that,"  replied  Caleb. 
"They  are  all  new  milch,  and  I  think  I  could  get 
that  'most  anywhere.  I  would  prefer  to  sell  them 
to  you,  as  you  would  pay  cash  and  that's  what  I 
want  now.  I  can't  take  any  sixty  days'  notes." 

"Perhaps  if  you  threw  in  one  of  those  farrow 
cows  we  might  come  to  terms,"  drawled  Joe. 

"No,"  said  Caleb,  "I  could  not  think  of  that. 
They  are  worth  two  hundred  of  anybody's  money. 
I  could  get  that,  and  perhaps  more,  at  auction." 

"But  there  would  be  the  commission  and  adver 
tising  to  come  out  of  that,"  shrewdly  suggested 
Joe. 

"Yes,  that's  true,  but  if  you  want  them,  they're 
cheap  at  two  hundred.  There's  others  who  do 
want  them,  but  I  have  given  you  first  chance." 

"Throw  in  the  brindle  farrar  and  it's  a  trade," 


42  CALEB  ABBOTT 

said  Joe,  closing  one  eye  and  looking  at  Caleb 
with  the  other.  But  Caleb  was  firm. 

"No,"  he  answered.  "Two  hundred  if  you  want 
them;  if  you  don't,  there's  no  more  to  be  said." 
And  Caleb  began  to  back  his  horse  out  of  the  shed. 

Joe  had  now  nearly  whittled  the  stick  through 
on  which  he  had  been  industriously  working  dur 
ing  their  talk.  A  little  pile  of  shavings  already 
nearly  hid  the  toe  of  one  great  boot  and  had  even 
begun  to  cover  the  other.  Caleb  well  knew  that 
by  the  time  the  stick  was  whittled  through  it 
would  be  "yes"  or  "no."  You  can't  come  to  any 
decision  on  a  trade  with  a  stick  half  whittled,  you 
know. 

"Hold  on,"  said  Joe,  "it's  most  dinner  time. 
Stay  and  have  a  bite  with  us,  and  perhaps  we  can 
come  to  terms." 

"I'm  sorry,"  replied  Caleb.  "I  should  like  to 
stop,  but  I  promised  Mother  I  would  be  back  to 
dinner.  She  will  keep  it  waiting  for  me."  So  say 
ing  Caleb  jumped  into  his  team  and  was  about  to 
start  when  the  stick  flew  in  two. 

"Say !  You  ain't  going,  be  you  ?  Just  a  minute. 
You  drive  them  cattle  over  tomorrow  or  next  dav 


CALEB  ABBOTT  43 

and  if  they  get  here  in  good  condition  I'll  have  a 
check  for  you  for  two  hundred.  But  you  ought  to 
throw  in  the  brindle ;  two  hundred's  a  lot  of  money 
these  days." 

"1  know  it  is,"  answered  Caleb.  "But  if  I  did  not 
need  the  money  I  would  not  sell  the  cattle.  You 
can  look  for  me  inside  forty-eight  hours.  Go 
long,"  with  a  chirp  to  Jack,  and  Caleb  headed  for 
home  in  a  cheerful  frame  of  mind.  Their  home 
was  safe  for  the  present,  at  least. 


CHAPTER  III. 

RENEWING    OLD    FRIENDSHIPS. 

! 

In  a  house  in  one  of  the  most  fashionable 
tip-town  parts  of  New  York  sat  a  man  of  about 
fifty  years.  Portly,  and  prosperous-looking,  was 
Samuel  Upton.  Born  in  Rushton,  when  that  town 
consisted  of  but  few  houses  and  those  houses  were 
scattered  far  and  near,  young  Upton,  at  the  death 
of  his  parents,  being  more  than  ordinarily  ambi 
tious,  had  sold  out  the  old  homestead  for  a  small 
amount,  but  which  looked  large  to  him,  and,  shak 
ing  the  dust  of  Rushton  from  his  feet,  wended  his 
way  to  New  York  to  make  his  fortune. 

Fortune  had  indeed  smiled  upon  him,  and  being 
a  boy  of  good  habits  and  more  than  usual  intelli 
gence  he  had  secured  a  position  as  messenger  in 
a  bank;  and  he  had,  as  the  years  passed  on  in  ser 
vice,  and  increasing  responsibility,  become  Presi 
dent  of  this  very  bank.  He  had  married  rather 


CALEB  ABBOTT  45 

late  in  life  an  excellent  lady  of  good  family  who 
had  died  a  few  years  before,  leaving  an  only 
daughter.  This  daughter  was  now  in  her  eigh 
teenth  year,  and  it  was  of  her  Mr.  Upton  was 
thinking.  She  had  not  been  in  good  health  of  late. 
The  old  family  doctor  had  recommended  "a 
change;"  "change  of  scene,  change  of  diet,  change 
of  air,  in  fact,  Upton,  change  of  everything.  Let 
her  see  pine  trees  instead  of  brick  houses;  cows 
instead  of  street  cars;  fanners  instead  of  police; 
dirt  instead  of  pavements ;  in  other  words,  take  her 
to  the  country  where  everything  is  different.  Let 
her  hear  the  birds,  see  the  flowers,  drink  the  pure 
air,  smell  the  new  earth.  That  will  put  the  bloom 
in  her  cheek  if  anything  will.'' 

Samuel  Upton's  thought  wandered  back  to  his 
boyhood  days,  and  to  his  boyhood  chum,  David 
Abbott.  He  wondered  what  had  become  of  David. 
It  would  do  no  harm  to  write  and  see  if  he  was 
still  in  Rushton.  He  thought  of  the  school  days. 
He  and  David  had  led  in  all  the  games,  while  he 
himself  led  in  studies.  He  thought  of  Mattie,  too, 
David's  wife.  He  and  David  had  been  rivals  at 
school.  He  had  heard  afterwards  of  David's  mar- 


46  CALEB  ABBOTT 

riage  to  her.  "Yes,  the  very  place  for  my  daugh 
ter,  if  they  will  take  her  to  board,"  thought  Mr. 
Upton;  "I  will  write  at  once." 

The  cattle  had  been  delivered,  the  interest  paid 
to  old  Shylock ;  and  the  load  was  lifted  from 
Caleb's  mind.  When,  a  few  days  later  he  was  hired 
to  do  part  of  the  teaming  for  the  new  dam,  his  cup 
of  happiness  was  full ;  did  I  say  happiness  ?  I 
hardly  meant  that.  He  still  felt  the  loss  of  his 
father,  but  he  bravely  tried  to  hide  his  feelings 
from  his  mother.  Indeed,  it  was  only  as  they 
kissed  each  other  "good  night,"  that  they  let 
themselves  feel  each  other's  sorrow.  During  this 
time  Caleb  had  worked  early  and  late,  ploughing, 
harrowing  and  planting  such  seeds  as  could  be 
planted  at  this  season  of  the  year. 

Caleb  was  about  to  start  for  the  post  office  when 
he  saw  Seth  coming  up  the  hill. 

"Hullo,  Seth,"  greeted  Caleb.  "Anything 
wrong?" 

"No,"  replied  Seth,  "I  want  to  borrow  your 
spring  tooth  harrow,  if  you  ain't  going  to  use  it. 
My  old  spike  tooth's  'bout  played  out." 

"Certainly,"  said  Caleb,  "I  won't  need  it  again 


CALEB  ABBOTT  47 

until  1  get  ready  for  corn.  Seth  did  yon  ever  see 
such  a  sight?"  pointing  over  and  clown  the  hill, 
\vhere  the  apple  trees  were  laden  with  blossoms. 
Each  tree  looked  as  if  a  heavy  fall  of  damp  snow 
had  settled  on  it,  so  full  as  each  was  with  blossoms. 
"Looks  as  if  I  should  have  some  apples  this  year, 
Seth." 

"Looks  that  way,  my  boy;  but  blossoms  ain't 
apples.  Still  it's  late  for  frosts.  They  ought  to 
turn  out  well." 

"Going  down  to  the  post  office,  Caleb?"  Seth 
inquired  later.  "If  you  are,  I'll  just  jog  along 
with  you;  looks  like  John  Libby's  coming  down 
the  hill  there." 

"That's  he  all  right,"  replied  Caleb.  "You 
would  know  that  pair  of  old  plugs  any\vhere." 

John  Libby  was  the  driver  of  the  stage  that  ran 

between  D ,  Rushton,  Oak  Valley,  and  Brain- 

ard's  Falls.  Rushton  was  five  miles  from  D , 

which  was  the  nearest  railroad  point,  while  Oak 
Valley  lay  some  three  miles  beyond  Rushton ;  and 
Brainard's  Falls  four  miles  up  the  river  from  Oak 
Valley;  Libby  had  run  this  stage  route  for  years. 
It  was  said  that  in  his  younger  days  he  used  to 


48  CALEB  ABBOTT 

make  respectable  time  between  points,  but  of  late 
years  he  had,  like  his  horses,  been  getting  slower 
and  slower  until  he  consumed  at  least  an  hour  and 
often  more  coming  from  D—  -  to  Rushton.  Not 
withstanding,  the  villagers  knew  just  what  time  to 
expect  him,  and  they  were  always  on  the  lookout 
for  him,  as  mail  time  in  Rushton  was  the  event  of 
the  day,  just  as  it  is  the  event  of  the  day  in  any 
small  village  which  has  no  railroad  connection  and 
must  depend  upon  the  stage  for  mail,  newspapers, 
and  any  stray  bit  of  gossip  from  the  outside  world. 

The  mail  for  the  three  villages  was  all  brought 
in  one  bag.  Rushton's  post  mistress  took  out  the 
mail  for  that  town;  then  she  relocked  the  bag 
which  was  carried  on  to  Oak  Valley  and  from 
there  to  Brainard's  Falls.  The  post  office  was 
situated  in  the  front  room  of  a  story  and  a  half 
house  opposite  the  general  store. 

The  post  mistress,  Mrs.  Lucinda  French,  was 
the  widow  of  a  former  Grand  Army  man.  She  had 
held  the  position  of  post  mistress  for  many  years, 
in  fact  from  the  time  when  the  office  boasted  of 
but  fourteen  boxes  all  told.  Rushton  had,  how 
ever,  during  the  past  twenty-five  years  grown 


CALEB  ABBOTT  49 

slowly  but  surely.  Now  there  were  thirty-eight 
boxes  to  be  attended  to.  Airs.  French,  whose 
tongue,  at  least  so  the  boys  said,  was  caught  in  the 
middle  and  wagged  at  both  ends,  kept  so  busy  at 
mail  time  that  she  had  no  leisure  as  in  former  days 
to  read  the  various  postal  cards  or  to  gossip  with 
those  who  called  for  their  mail.  She  had,  how 
ever,  acquired  the  habit  of  scanning  each  and 
every  letter  which  passed  through  her  hands ;  and 
she  was  so  familiar  with  certain  superscriptions 
that  she  could  almost  tell  the  contents. 

The  mail  had  now  arrived  and  Caleb  and  Seth 
together  with  the  other  villagers  were  waiting  for 
the  mail  to  be  distributed.  Neither  one  expected 
a  letter,  but  each  took  the  daily  paper,  and  it  was 
force  of  habit  remaining  until  the  last  letter  was 
distributed  before  departing  for  home.  So  they 
waited  today,  while  Mrs.  Lucinda  French  took 
some  twenty  or  twenty-five  letters  from  the  bag 
marked  Rushton,  and  began  her  usual  remarks. 
"Well,  here's  a  letter  for  Cynthia  McDonald. 
Gets  one  every  day  from  her  feller  down  to  Man 
chester.  Think  they'd  get  sick  of  writing  by  and 
by.  Then,  it  makes  business  for  the  Government. 


50  CALEB  ABBOTT 

Here's  three  for  Cyrus  Whitney;  something  'bout 
mortgages  I  guess.  He  don't  get  many  from  the 
parson,"  with  a  chuckle.  "Well,  I  declare! 
Here's  two  for  Oak  Valley.  I  never  seen  'em ! 
My  eye-sight's  getting  poor.  Has  Libby  gone?" 
Yes,  Libby  had  gone. 

"Well,  never  mind,"  she  continued,  "they'll  git 
'em  tomorrow." 

Oh,  yes !  Mrs.  Post  Mistress ;  a  matter  of 
twenty-four  hours  doesn't  matter  in  New  Hamp 
shire. 

Continuing  to  sort  the  mails,  Mrs.  French 
remarked,  "Here's  one  for  Deacon  Patch;  good 
fat  one;  looks  as  if  there  might  be  a  check  in  it," 
holding  it  up  to  the  light.  "Here's  one  for  Jim 
Anderson.  Lawyer's  name  in  the  corner.  He 
gets  lots  of  lawyers'  letters.  Don't  pay  his  bills, 
so  they  say.  And  I  swan  here's  one  for  David 
Abbott;  from  New  York,  too!  Wonder  who  can 
be  writing  to  him.  Poor  man,  he'd  never  get  it. 
Well  I  must  run  over  and  see  Mattie  tomorrow.  I 
ain't  been  over  since  the  funeral." 

"I'll  take  it  if  you  don't  mind,"  said  Caleb. 

And  handing  it  over  to  him  with  a  quizzical  ex- 


CALEB  ABBOTT  51 

pression  on  her  face,  the  genial  post  mistress  con 
tinued  her  harangue.  But  Caleb  did  not  wait  to 
hear  about  the  rest  of  the  letters,  he  hurried  for 
home,  wondering  as  much  as  Mrs.  Lucinda  French 
herself  who  could  have  written  to  his  father  from 
New  York.  He  found  his  mother  in  the  kitchen, 
and  Caleb  handed  the  letter  to  her,  but  she  said, 
"You  open  it,  Caleb,  and  read  it  to  me."  So  Caleb 
opened  it  and  read  as  follows: 

New  York,  May  i,  19 — . 
David  Abbott: 

My  dear  old  chum :  I  do  not  know  that  you 
will  ever  receive  this  letter,  but  I  write  it  in  the 
blind  hope  that  you  will.  I  do  not  even  know  if 
you  are  still  on  the  farm.  But  remembering  your 
domestic  habits  I  take  it  for  granted  that  you  are. 
For  some  time  after  leaving  Rushton  I  had  the 
local  paper  sent  me,  and  in  one  of  them  saw  the 
announcement  of  your  marriage  to  Matilda  Stand- 
ish.  Since  then  I  have  had  no  news  from  Rushton. 

But  to  come  down  to  business.  I  have  a 
daughter,  Marjorie,  a  young  lady  of  eighteen  years, 
whose  health  is  not  of  the  best.  Our  family  physi 
cian  advises  a  complete  change  of  scene,  air  and 
diet,  and  recommends  sending  her  into  the  coun 
try.  In  thinking  of  the  country  naturally  my 
thoughts  turned  back  to  my  boyhood  home,  and 
just  as  naturally  to  my  old  school  chum.  I 


52  CALEB  ABBOTT 

thought  that  Rushton  would  be  just  the  place  for 
Marjorie,  and  my  old  friend's  home  just  the 
home  for  her,  provided  I  can  prevail  upon  you  to 
take  my  daughter  as  a  boarder. 

Now,  if  you  are  in  a  position  to  do  so,  and  are 
also  willing  to  receive  her  I  will  send  you  a  check 
each  week  for  eight  dollars  as  long  as  she  may 
stay  with  you.  I  do  not  wish  her  at  a  hotel ;  but  I 
do  want  her  where  she  can  have  good,  homelike 
surroundings,  such  as  I  know  would  prevail  in 
your  home.  I  do  not  expect  nor  in  fact  do  I  wish 
you  to  make  any  change  in  your  mode  of  living 
for  her.  But,  on  the  contrary,  I  should  prefer  that 
she  ate  plain  country  food.  She  will  be  but  little 
trouble,  as  she  wishes  to  take  care  of  her  own 
room,  and  if  she  wishes  to  help  about  the  house 
in  any  way  I  shall  not  object,  as  exercise  will  un 
doubtedly  be  a  benefit  to  her.  I  am  aware  that 
eight  dollars  a  week  is  rather  more  than  is  gener 
ally  charged  for  board  at  a  country  farm  house, 
but  I  am  well  able  to  pay  this,  or  even  more  if  you 
think  it  not  enough,  as  I  wish  her  to  be  comfort 
able  and  happy  and  in  good  hands.  If  you  receive 
this  letter  and  answer  favorably  I  shall  run  on 
myself  with  her  and  stop  a  day  or  two  for  the  sake 
of  "Auld  Lang  Syne." 

Truly  your  old  friend, 

Sam  Upton. 

"Sam  Upton !"  said  Mrs.  Abbott.  "How  well  I 
remember  him !  He  and  your  father  were  rivals 
for  me.  You  would  hardlv  think  to  look  at  me 


CALEB  ABBOTT  53 

now,  Caleb,  that  your  father  ever  had  a  rival, 
would  you?'' 

"Now  Mother!"  answered  Caleb,  "why  not?  I 
am  sure  for  your  age  you  are  a  handsome  woman 
yet,  and  I  am  sure  by  your  earlier  pictures  that 
there  must  have  been  more  than  one  rival  for  your 
hand.  But  how  shall  we  answer?  We  don't  want 
to  offend  an  old  friend  of  Father's;  still,  of  course 
we  can't  take  a  boarder." 

"And  why  not?"  replied  his  mother.  "Eight 
dollars  a  week  is  a  lot  of  money;  nearly  twice  the 
usual  price  of  board  at  a  farm  house.  I  am  sure 
there  must  be  quite  a  profit  in  it." 

"Yes,  but  look  at  the  extra  work  for  you.  Al 
though  he  says  in  his  letter  that  he  does  not  expect 
us  to  make  any  difference  in  our  style  of  living, 
there  would  of  necessity  be  some  difference." 

"Not  much,"  she  replied.  "He  says  she  wishes 
to  take  care  of  her  own  room  and  young  ladies  of 
eighteen  ain't  running  around  upsetting  the  house 
much.  I  always  did  the  work  for  three,  and  I  see 
no  reason  why  I  cannot  do  it  again.  Then,  be 
sides,  I  get  rather  lonely  myself  sometimes  when 


54  CALEB  ABBOTT 

you  are  away  all  day  long.  She  will  be  company 
for  me." 

The  last  sentence  settled  the  argument.  If 
his  mother  was  lonely, — and  she  must  be  some 
times, — and  the  young  lady  would  be  company  for 
her — that  put  the  matter  in  a  new  light  to  Caleb. 

He  answered,  "It  is  for  you  to  say,  Mother,  not 
for  me.  If  you  really  wish  her  to  come  I  will  write 
that  she  may.  Of  course  we  must  give  her  the 
best  room,  the  west  chamber,"  continued  Caleb. 
"I  hope  she  is  not  too  much  of  an  invalid,  or  a  ner 
vous  crank,  so  that  we  sha'n't  regret  it.  However, 
we  are  not  obliged  to  have  her  stay  if  it  is  not 
pleasant." 

"No,"  said  Mrs.  Abbott,  "but  something  tells 
me  she  is  pretty  and  agreeable ;  and  that  we  shall 
like  her.  You  answer  the  letter,  Caleb,  and  let 
him  make  the  arrangements  when  she  is  to  come." 

So  Caleb  sat  down  and  wrote  the  following : 

Rushton,  May  7,  19 — . 
Samuel  Upton: 

Dear  Sir:  It  falls  upon  me  to  answer  your 
letter  to  my  father,  David  Abbott,  as  my  father 
lost  his  life  in  the  Merrimack  during  the  recent 


CALEB  ABBOTT  55 

flood  of  which  you  have  undoubtedly  read.  My 
mother,  however,  is  still  living  at  the  farm,  to 
gether  with  her  only  child,  or  rather  her  only  son, 
myself.  Mother  remembers  you  well,  and  she 
would  be  pleased  to  accept  your  daughter  as  a 
boarder  in  our  home.  We  were  at  first  adverse 
to  taking  anyone  into  the  home,  but  after  reading 
your  letter  a  second  time  we  came  to  the  conclu 
sion  to  accept  the  offer.  I  hope  and  trust  that  we 
will  get  along  pleasantly  together,  and  you  may 
rest  assured  that  we  will  do  all  in  our  power  to 
make  your  daughter's  stay  a  pleasure  to  her.  We 
have  few  attractions  here  as  you  evidently  know, 
and  I  only  hope  your  daughter  will  enjoy  her  sur 
roundings. 

If  you  will  kindly  let  me  know  when  you  intend 
to  arrive  here  I  will  meet  you  personally  with  my 
team,  as  a  trip  in  the  old  stage  is  slow  and  tire 
some  and  I  think  you  will  ride  in  more  comfort 
with  me. 

Very  truly  yours, 

Caleb  Abbott. 

The  banker  and  his  daughter  were  at  breakfast 
when  the  morning  mail  was  delivered.  The  butler 
brought  it  at  once  to  Mr.  Upton,  who  ran  over 
the  letters,  glancing  at  the  post  mark  on  each,  and 
picking  out  what  he  thought  were  personal  letters 
first,  leaving  business  matters  and  papers  for  the 


56  CALEB  ABBOTT 

last.  "Well,  daughter,"  he  exclaimed,  "here  is  one 
post  marked  'Rushton.'  Rather  a  quick  reply.  It 
must  have  reached  David  after  all." 

Marjorie,  watching  her  father  as  he  read  the 
letter  saw  his  head  droop  for  a  moment  as  he  mur 
mured  "poor  David,"  and  she  quickly  inquired,  "Is 
it  favorable,  Papa  ?  Oh,  how  I  hope  it  is !  Some 
how  I  am  looking  forward  to  a  country  life,  when 
at  first  I  so  dreaded  it." 

"Yes,"  replied  her  father,  "it  is  favorable. 
David,  my  old  friend,  is  dead,  but  the  letter  is  from 
his  son,  a  bright  lad,  too,  I  should  judge  from  the 
letter;  good  writing,  well  written;  he  certainly  is 
no  greenhorn.  But  here,  you  can  read  it  your 
self,"  he  added  as  he  handed  her  the  letter,  and 
turned  to  look  through  the  rest  of  the  mail,  while 
Marjorie  read  the  letter  which  was  to  change  her 
whole  life. 

Would  she  still  have  decided  to  go  to  Rushton 
could  she  have  looked  into  the  future  ?  Would  she 
have  left  the  city;  the  city  which  is  a  world  in 
itself;  the  one  city  of  the  country  that  has  life,  life 


CALEB  ABBOTT  57 

for  the  rich,  life  for  the  poor,  attractions  for  all. 
Yes,  we  think  she  would. 


Everyone  was  busy  in  Rushton.  There  was 
something  for  all  to  do.  Even  the  children  were 
busy  before  and  after  school.  They  hardly  found 
time  to  play.  The  long  winter  evenings  were 
over.  The  store  looked  deserted  these  beautiful 
nights.  Farmers  were  busy,  ploughing,  harrowing 
and  planting.  Farmers'  wives  were  busy  from 
morning  till  night  with  their  regular  work,  to 
gether  with  the  added  spring  cares  in  the  kitchen 
when  an  extra  man  or  twTo  increase  the  family; 
with  the  house-cleaning  and  butter-making  they 
found  but  little  time  to  spend  in  the  flower  garden, 
yet  they  did  resurrect  from  the  cellars  where  they 
had  lain  all  winter,  geraniums  and  dahlia  bulbs. 
The  hollyhocks  and  peonies  had  already  been  un 
covered ;  and  here  and  there  a  bunch  of  tender, 
green  leaves  close  down  to  the  ground  could  be 
seen,  ready  to  push  forth  and  grow  till  later  in  the 
season  they  would  blossom  in  all  their  gorgeous 
colors. 


58  CALEB  ABBOTT 

The  boys  helped  to  do  the  chores,  together  with 
lending  a  hand  at  the  wood  pile,  for  the  far  seeing 
and  thrifty  farmer  hardly  waits  for  one  winter  to 
be  over  before  he  begins  to  fill  the  shed  and  yard 
with  wood  for  the  coming  winter.  Still,  the  boys 
managed  to  find  time  to  go  brook  trouting.  With 
a  fresh  cut  alder,  a  line  and  hooks,  and  a  tin  can 
full  of  worms,  many  were  the  speckled  beauties 
which  they  lured  from  their  hiding  places  in  deep 
pool  or  from  under  the  bank  of  some  small 
meadow  or  woodland  stream. 

Mrs.  Abbott  was  busy  with  the  rest,  and  her 
house  had  been  cleaned  from  cellar  to  garret.  It 
hardly  seemed  worth  while  to  spend  so  much  time 
in  cleaning  house,  when  there  was  so  little  evi 
dence  of  the  need  of  cleaning;  but  Mrs.  Abbott 
was  one  of  those  women  who  clean  house  thor 
oughly  every  spring,  even  if  it  did  not  really  need 
it.  Caleb  had  painted  the  kitchen  walls  and  ceil- 
ing'a  robin's  egg  blue,  and  the  wood  work  white ; 
a  pretty  combination,  while  the  floor  was  of  oak, 
in  its  natural  grain.  The  dining  room  floor  had 
been  repainted.  A  new  straw  matting,  cheap,  but 
with  a  small,  neat  pattern  had  been  laid  in  the  west 


CALEB  ABBOTT  59 

chamber.  Caleb  had  whitewashed  the  ceiling. 
The  walls  had  been  repapered  by  Mrs.  Abbott  her 
self,  and  the  best  lace  curtains  were  draped  at  the 
windows.  On  one  side  stood  the  great  four-posted 
bedstead  with  its  feather  beds  and  quilts,  and 
snow  white  sheets  and  pillow  slips.  The  pillows 
had  been  made  by  Mrs.  Abbott  with  feathers  from 
her  own  fowl.  In  one  corner  stood  a  large,  old 
fashioned  bureau  and  glass.  There  were  chairs  to 
gether  with  a  great  comfortable  rocker  and  wash- 
stand,  a  picture  here  and  there  brightened  the 
walls.  It  was  indeed  a  typical  country  chamber, 
a  chamber  which  is  full  of  rest  and  comfort,  with 
fresh  air,  sunshine,  and  pleasant  views  from  the 
windows. 

Caleb  was  up  bright  and  early  to  do  all  he  could 
before  noon.  Today  he  was  to  meet  Mr.  Upton 
and  Marjorie,  his  daughter.  He  had  borrowed  a 
pole  and  set  of  light  double  harnesses,  not  being 
able  to  afford  such  a  luxury  himself;  and  the 
family  democrat  had  been  washed  and  oiled;  quite 
an  event  for  a  country  team.  Caleb  laughingly 
told  his  mother  that  he  had  almost  forgotten  what 
the  color  of  the  democrat  really  was,  until  he  had 


60  CALEB  ABBOTT 

gotten  the  spring  mud  off  of  it.  The  horses  shone 
like  satin.  Their  winter  coats  were  shed,  and 
Caleb  who  always  found  time  to  curry  and  brush 
his  favorites,  Jack  and  Gill,  had  groomed  them 
into  fine  condition.  Caleb  himself,  a  picture  of 
health  and  strength,  freshly  shaven  and  in  his  best 
clothes,  was  ready  to  start.  "Don't  get  nervous, 
mother,"  he  said,  as  he  was  about  to  drive  away. 
"And  have  dinner  ready  at  two.  If  the  train  is  on 
time  I'll  be  back  in  an  hour  and  a  half." 

Mrs.  Abbott  gazed  after  him  for  a  moment  with 
hearty  pride  in  the  general  appearance  of  the 
horses,  carriage  and  driver,  her  own  dear  boy! 
Then  she  hastened  into  the  house,  for  there  was 
work  to  be  done  before  dinner;  the  chickens  were 
to  be  roasted,  vegetables  to  be  prepared  and  the 
many  little  odds  and  ends  to  be  done  that  only  the 
housekeeper  knows  how  to  do,  or  how  much  time 
it  takes  to  do  them. 

Caleb  had  allowed  ample  time  for  the  trip.  He 
let  his  horses  take  their  own  time  and,  whistling 
as  he  rode  along,  enjoyed  to  the  uttermost  this 
rare  holiday,  finally  arriving  at  the  station  a  few 
minutes  before  train  time. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

MAKING    NEW    FRIENDSHIPS. 

The  summer  season  had  not  yet  opened  in  New 
Hampshire,  and  Caleb  felt  that  he  would  have  little 
difficulty  in  finding  Mr.  Upton  and  daughter, 
knowing  there  would  be  few  if  any  strangers  to 

alight  at  D .  So  when  a  portly  man  with  a 

well  fed  appearance  and  a  young  lady  by  his  side 
came  toward  him  he  raised  his  hat  and  said:  "Mr. 
Upton?" 

With  a  smile  and  nod  the  other  replied : 

"Yes;  Mr.  Abbott  I  presume?"  and  receiving  a 
reply  in  the  affirmative,  added,  "my  daughter, 
Marjorie,  Mr.  Abbott,"  and  Caleb,  acknowledg 
ing  the  introduction,  remarked  that  this  was  a 
glorious  day. 

"Yes,  it  is,"  replied  Mr.  Upton.  "It  has  been  a 
fine  spring  so  far." 

"Have  you  any  trunks?"  asked  Caleb.     "If  so, 


62  CALEB  ABBOTT 

you  had  better  let  me  give  the  checks  to  Libby, 
the  stage  driver." 

"Oh,  yes,"  replied  Mr.  Upton  with  a  laugh, 
"Marjorie  has  trunks.  You  know  no  young  lady 
can  travel  without  trunks,  although  what  she 
expects  to  do  with  all  the  duds  she  brought  here, 
I  can't  see." 

"Why,  father !  I  haven't  brought  anything  but 
what  I  need.  It's  true  I  have  brought  some  recep 
tion  dresses,  but  even  if  I  don't  wear  them  here 
they  will  be  just  as  well  here  as  in  New  York." 

Caleb  was  little  prepared  for  the  vision  of  loveli 
ness  when  he  saw  Marjorie  Upton.  He  had  pic 
tured  her  as  an  invalid,  nervous,  and  perhaps 
cranky  or  pettish.  Marjorie,  it  is  true,  was  pale, 
yet  her  paleness  only  set  off  her  style  of  beauty. 
Large,  dark  eyes;  violet,  Caleb  thought,  though 
he  was  not  quite  sure.  Hair  of  a  rich  golden  color; 
full  red  lips ;  a  small,  well  shaped  nose,  a  little  too 
small  he  thought,  and  then  again  he  wasn't  quite 
sure  but  that  it  was  just  large  enough.  It  was 
when  she  smiled  that  her  beauty  was  most  bewitch 
ing.  Tall  and  supple,  she  carried  herself  with  an 
exquisite  grace.  Caleb  thought  he  had  never 


CALEB  ABBOTT  63 

gazed  on  so  beautiful  a  creature,  and  he  found 
himself  comparing  her  beauty  with  that  of  an 
other, — Hilda.  Hilda,  the  perfect  picture  of 
health,  with  graceful  form,  though  stout  in  build; 
dark  olive  skin;  hazel  eyes;  auburn  hair;  rosy 
cheeks;  what  a  contrast  these  two  made!  Both 
were  beautiful  girls;  yet  such  different  types  of 
beauty.  And  Marjorie  in  turn  thought  she  had 
never  seen  before  such  a  perfect  type  of  man  as 
Caleb.  Tall,  broad  shouldered,  deep  chested ;  she 
looked  with  wonder  at  Caleb  while  he  lifted  easily 
and  alone  one  of  her  large,  heavy  trunks  high  up 
on  another  behind  the  stage.  It  seemed  no  effort 
at  all  on  his  part.  Yet  when  it  left  their  home  in 
New  York  it  took  two  men  to  handle  it. 

"If  you  don't  mind,  Papa,  I  am  going  to  banish 
you  to  the  rear  seat,"  said  Marjorie  when  they 
were  ready  to  start.  "I  want  Mr.  Abbott  to  tell 
me  about  any  interesting  place  we  pass.  That  is, 
if  1  won't  tire  you  with  my  questions,"  she  added 
to  Caleb,  with  one  of  her  sweetest  smiles. 

"Not  at  all,"  replied  Caleb.  "It  will  give  me 
pleasure  to  tell  you  of  anything  that  may  interest 
you.  But  I  am  afraid  that  there  won't  be  much  of 


64  CALEB  ABBOTT 

interest  on  this  drive.  There  are,  however,  many 
beautiful  drives  about  Rushton." 

"I  am  afraid  my  daughter  won't  drive  much," 
said  Mr.  Abbott.  "The  doctor  recommends  exer 
cise,  and  if  she  doesn't  care  to  walk,  I  wish  her  to 
ride  horse-back.  Before  I  go  back  I  hope  to  make 
arrangements  with  you  to  care  for  a  saddler  for 
her.  That  is,  if  you  don't  object  to  the  care  of 
another  horse." 

"Certainly  not,"  replied  Caleb.  "I  have  plenty 
of  stall  room,  and  one  more  horse  won't  take  much 
of  my  time." 

"Oh!  Mr.  Abbott,  what  is  that  bird  I  hear?" 
exclaimed  Marjorie  excitedly.  "See !  there  he  is 
way  up  the  tip  top  of  that  tree!  Stop  a  moment, 
please,  while  I  hear  him  sing." 

"That?"  said  Caleb.  "I  thought  everybody, 
even  a  New  Yorker,  was  familiar  with  that  bird. 
That  is  a  robin-red-breast.  I  am  surprised  to  hear 
him  singing  now.  It  is  early  in  the  morning  or  at 
dusk  that  robins  usually  sing.  You  will  hear  them 
tonight  from  half  a  dozen  tree  tops." 

"Oh!  papa,  isn't  he  sweet?"  Who  that  has 
heard  our  robin-red-breast  singing  at  sunset  but 


CALEB  ABBOTT  65 

what  will  agree  with  Marjorie  that  it  certainly  is 
sweet  music !  So  with  almost  childish  enthusiasm 
Marjorie  kept  Caleb  busy  answering  questions, 
describing  the  surrounding  country,  telling  her 
names  of  birds,  pointing  out  different  farms  and 
drives  until  finally  they  drove  up  to  Mrs.  Abbott's 
door. 

When  the  stage  drove  up  to  the  post  office  with 
three  large  trunks  strapped  on  behind,  and  no 
passenger  with  them,  there  was  much  speculation 
as  to  what  it  could  mean.  Mrs.  Lucinda  French 
was  so  frustrated  that  she  could  hardly  open  the 
mail  bag.  When  she  did  finally  get  around  to  dis 
tributing  the  mail  she  was  so  rattled  that  she  gave 
Cynthia  McDonald  a  letter  of  Jim  Anderson's  with 
a  bill  in  it,  and  to  Jim  a  love  letter  of  Cynthia's 
from  her  beau  clown  in  Manchester.  Mrs.  French 
knew  nothing  about  the  new  boarder  at  the 
Abbott's.  She  had  called,  as  she  had  intended,  on 
Mattie ;  but  all  she  could  find  out  about  that  letter 
from  New  York  was  that  it  was  from  an  old  friend 
of  David's.  Beat  around  the  bush  as  she  would, 
she  could  find  out  nothing  further  in  regard  to  its 
contents.  Mrs.  Abbott  with  a  smile  simply  said, 


66  CALEB  ABBOTT 

"Just  a  friendly  letter,"  and  "how  is  your  garden 
doing  this  year,  Lucinda?"  As  Caleb  himself  had 
confided  in  no  one  about  a  boarder  coming  to  their 
house  nothing  was  known  of  it  in  the  village.  So 
when,  in  answer  to  a  dozen  inquiries,  Libby  said, 
"Going  up  to  Abbott's.  Young  lady  gone  on 
ahead  with  Caleb,"  and  in  his  dry  way  added, 
"Shouldn't  wonder  if  they  intended  getting 
hitched." 

Hilda,  who  had  run  down  to  the  office  for  her 
father's  mail,  arrived  just  in  time  to  hear  these 
remarks.  A  dull  pain  seized  her  around  her  heart; 
for  a  moment  she  felt  dizzy.  Was  it  possible  that 
Caleb  was  to  get  married  and  she  had  heard  noth 
ing  of  it?  But  no,  she  never  heard  much  village 
gossip.  Yet  it  could  not  be.  There  must  be  some 
mistake.  Still,  she  distinctly  heard  Libby  say  so. 
She  would  have  liked  to  know  more,  but  she  was 
too  well  bred  to  ask  anyone.  Taking  her  mail  she 
started  across  the  fields  for  home,  not  much  like 
the  light  hearted  girl  who  had  come  over  these 
same  paths  a  few  moments  before. 

A  partridge  nesting  in  the  edge  of  the  wood 
rose  with  a  whir-u-u-u  and  for  a  moment  startled 


CALEB  ABBOTT  67 

Hilda  from  her  thoughts,  then  as  she  continued  on 
her  way,  her  thoughts  went  back  to  the  old  school 
days.  Somehow  Caleb  always  seemed  to  belong 
to  her  and  she  to  him.  They  were  always  together, 
romping,  laughing,  with  not  a  thought  or  care  for 
the  future.  But  of  late  they  had  been  drifting 
more  and  more  apart,  until  now  they  saw  very 
little  of  each  other;  in  fact  they  never  met  now 
except  by  chance.  It  seemed  to  Hilda  as  she 
thought  over  the  past  few  months  as  if  Caleb  had 
tried  to  avoid  her  lately.  He  never  attended  the 
little  entertainments  which  were  occasionally  given 
in  the  village,  and  for  the  last  few  Sundays  he  even 
had  not  been  to  church.  (Hilda  did  not  know  that 
Caleb  felt  he  could  not  afford  to  go  to  entertain 
ments  and  that  his  Sunday  clothes  were  getting 
shabby.)  Why  was  it?  Had  she  done  anything 
to  offend  him?  Had  she  been  forward  in  still 
calling  him  "Caleb?"  She  could  never  call  Caleb, 
her  old  school  play-fellow,  "Mr.  Abbott."  When 
does  childhood  leave  off  and  womanhood  begin, 
anyway?  When  shall  we  cease  calling  each  other 
those  sweet  school  day  names  and  begin  the  titles 
of  society? 


68  CALEB  ABBOTT 

Ah,  Hilda !  it  is  hard  to  define  the  time  to  leave 
the  old  free,  happy  ways,  the  old  pleasant  names, 
the  romps  and  laughter,  to  put  on  the  serious 
manners  of  man  and  woman.  Yet  time  and 
society  demand  it.  Now  that  the  school  days  are 
over,  and  you  and  Caleb,  like  many  others,  are 
entering  that  future  of  toil  and  hardship,  care  and 
responsibility,  worldliness  and  deceit,  you,  too, 
must  join  the  multitude,  and  lay  aside  your  joyous 
heartedness ;  your  innocent  pleasures,  to  enter 
with  others  into  that  world  of  duty  and  sacrifice. 
If  your  heart  aches  for  the  old  days,  for  the  old 
love,  you  must  hide  it  from  all.  You  are  a  young 
woman  now. 

Mrs.  Abbott  and  Mr.  Upton  greeted  each  other 
cordially,  and  Mr.  Upton  presenting  Marjorie 
with,  "This  is  my  daughter,  Mrs.  Abbott.  Will 
you  take  good  care  of  her?" 

Mrs.  Abbott  took  both  her  hands  in  hers  and 
drew  her  toward  her,  kissing  her  for  an  answer. 
A  tear  stole  softly  down  Marjorie's  pale  cheek.  It 
seemed  almost  like  a  home-coming,  and  yet  she 
was  leaving  her  own  home  and  her  father,  whom 


CALEB  ABBOTT  69 

she  loved  so  well,  to  come  amongst  entire 
strangers. 

"Perhaps  you  wish  to  go  to  your  room  at  once? 
It  is  a  long,  dusty  journey;  you  must  be  tired," 
said  Mrs.  Abbott.  "And  you,  Mr.  Upton,  you  can 
step  into  Caleb's  room  and  remove  the  travel 
stains.  I  will  show  you  upstairs,  Miss  Marjorie." 
Laughingly  she  added,  "We  have  no  elevator 
here." 

"No,"  replied  Mr.  Upton,  "and  I  am  glad  Mar 
jorie  is  leaving  them  behind.  I  honestly  think 
that  all  the  matter  with  her  health  is  want  of  exer 
cise.  Elevators  to  take  her  upstairs  and  down 
stairs;  a  carriage  at  the  door;  servants  to  attend 
her  every  want.  I  hope,  Mrs.  Abbott,  that  you 
won't  allow  her  to  get  indolent,  but  let  her  attend 
to  her  own  wants.  It  is  my  wish  that  she  will 
learn  to  help  herself.  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  I  have 
humored  her  in  almost  everything.  I  hope  what 
ever  her  faults  are  you  will  overlook  them.  I 
really  do  not  think  Marjorie  lazy.  But  after  so 
many  years  of  idleness  she  may  need  waking  up." 

"Never  fear,"  said  Mrs.  Abbott  in  reply,  "there 


70  CALEB  ABBOTT 

will  be  enough  for  her  to  do  without  over  exerting 
herself." 

"Yes,  Papa,"  said  Marjorie,  "I  intend  to  care  for 
my  own  room,  help  to  feed  the  chickens,  learn  to 
make  butter,  and  to  cook,  too,  if  Mrs.  Abbott  will 
teach  me." 

"I  am  afraid  your  grocery  bill  will  be  something 
enormous,  Mrs.  Abbott,  if  you  allow  her  to  cook. 
She  has  a  pocketful  of  rules  for  cake  which  she 
showed  me.  Why!  not  one  calls  for  less  than  a 
dozen  eggs  and  three  cups  of  butter,  to  say  noth 
ing  of  sugar  and  other  ingredients,"  laughingly 
went  on  Mr.  Upton. 

"Now,  Papa,  aren't  you  absurd!"  replied  Mar 
jorie  with  spirit.  "Those  recipes  are  from  the  lat 
est  cooking  school,  and  if  you  think  I  am  going  to 
ruin  Mrs.  Abbott  on  account  of  their  grocery  bills, 
you  just  see  the  grocer  before  you  go  home  and 
start  an  account  in  my  name,  because  I  am  going 
to  learn  to  cook,  if  I  use  all  the  eggs  and  butter  in 
Rushton." 

"That's  right,  dear,  I  haven't  heard  you  speak 
with  such  spirit  for  years.  You  shall  have  the 
account  and  cook  all  you  want  to.  But,"  added 


CALEB  ABBOTT  71 

her  father,  "we  are  keeping  Mrs.  Abbott.  She  is 
waiting  to  show  you  to  your  room."  So  they  pro 
ceeded  upstairs,  Mrs.  Abbott  showing  Marjorie 
her  room  first. 

"Oh,  Papa!  isn't  it  nice?"  exclaimed  Marjorie, 
enthusiastically.  "So  large  and  square,  such  sweet 
paper,  and  see  ho\v  the  sun  shines  in  those  two 
windows !"  pointing  to  the  windows  on  the  west 
side.  It  was  now  nearly  two  o'clock,  and  the  sun 
light  came  streaming  in. 

"Oh,  Papa,  look  at  this  view  from  the  window! 
There  are  hills  banked  upon  hills  as  far  as  you  can 
see,  and  there's  a  cottage  nestling  amongst  the 
trees,  and  cows  and  sheep  too !  Oh,  I  shall  never 
tire  looking  from  these  windows!" 

"It  is  indeed  a  fine,  sunny  room.  I  am  glad  you 
are  pleased  with  it,"  replied  her  father.  "Now, 
Mrs.  Abbott,  where  do  I  go?'' 

"Right  in  here,"  replied  the  hostess,  showing 
him  Caleb's  room.  "You  stop  here  tonight,  Mr. 
Upton." 

"Oh,  no !"  he  replied.  "I  won't  put  you  to  so 
much  trouble.  I  intend  to  go  to  the  hotel  to 
night." 


72  CALEB  ABBOTT 

"The  hotel !"  she  answered.  "Do  you  remember 
the  hotel  ?  Well,  it  hasn't  changed  a  bit.  I  rather 
think  you  will  be  more  comfortable  here." 

Mr.  Upton's  thoughts  wandered  back  to  the 
boyhood  days  when  the  butcher-cart  used  to  come 
down  the  street,  and  the  boys  would  chase  it,  sing 
ing  out,  "Here  comes  old  Skinner  with  his  leather 
cart,  old  boots !  old  boots !"  You  know  what  that 
means,  if  you  have  ever  lived  in  the  country.  The 
butcher  in  these  small  villages  used  to  kill  a 
"critter"  on  Sunday  and  come  around  with  the 
meat  to  sell  on  Monday.  Some  poor,  old,  skinny 
cow,  too  old  to  eat,  and  so  she  must  be  eaten. 
Meat  so  tough  that  you  could  hardly  stick  a  fork 
in  the  gravy.  Then,  in  the  winter  season,  when 
the  hotel  was  full  of  boarders,  mostly  wood  chop 
pers  (big,  hearty  men),  Hodgsdon,  the  fish  man, 
would  come  along.  Mrs.  Kettchum,  leaning  out 
the  window  would  sing  out,  "Got  any  oysters, 
Hiram?" 

"Yes'm,  good  ones,"  Hiram  would  reply. 

"Well,  bring  me  in  a  pint."  He  thought  of  the 
old,  front  room  which  was  used  for  an  office,  with 
its  big  wood  stove  which  sat  in  the  centre,  and  an 


CALEB  ABBOTT  73 

old  second-hand  barber  chair  in  one  corner.  The 
barber  was  never  there  if  you  wanted  a  shave. 
One  must  go  and  find  him  down  in  the  meadow, 
where  he  had  gone  fishing.  In  another  corner  was 
an  old  weather-beaten  table  around  which  usually 
sat  four  or  five  "regulars,"  playing  pitch,  or  forty- 
fives.  Along  one  side  was  the  counter  with 
Kettchum  himself  leaning  far  over  it,  his  fat, 
greasy  face  wreathed  in  smiles,  while  from  his  lips 
issued  clouds  of  smoke  from  a  rank  "two  fer," — 
one  of  his  own.  Back  of  the  counter,  and  a  little 
to  the  rear,  was  a  suspicious  looking  closet  such 
as  all  hotels  claim  in  prohibition  New  Hampshire.* 

Looking  at  the  clean,  white  walls  and  the  snow 
white  sheets  in  Mrs.  Abbott's  hospitable  house, 
Mr.  Upton  recanted.  "Thank  you  very  much  for 
your  kind  offer.  I  think  I  will  intrude  on  your 
hospitality  for  tonight." 

Caleb  had  in  the  meantime  returned  from  the 
barn ;  the  trunks  had  arrived  on  the  stage.  With 
appetites  whetted  by  the  long  drive,  they  sat  down 
to  a  delectable  dinner,  and  each  did  justice  to  it, 


*At  the  time  of  writing  this  story  New  Hampshire  was  a  prohibi 
tion  state.     It  is  now  a  licensed  state. — Author. 


74  CALEB  ABBOTT 

too.  Such  stories  as  Mr.  Upton  had  to  tell  of  the 
old  days  in  Rushton !  Mrs.  Abbott  joined  in,  re 
minding  him  of  this  or  that  event  long  forgotten, 
— a  husking  bee,  or  a  sugaring  off,  each  in  turn, 
until  all  felt  in  a  joyous  mood. 

After  dinner  while  they  were  sitting  on  the 
piazza  Mr.  Upton  asked  Caleb,  "Do  you  smoke, 
Mr.  Abbott?"  taking  out  a  cigar  case  filled  with 
fine  Havanas. 

"Yes,"  replied  Caleb,  "occasionally.  But  I  can't 
say  I  enjoy  Kettchum's  cigars,  and  as  I  can  hardly 
afford  good  ones  I  seldom  smoke." 

"Well,  I  guess  you  will  find  these  rather  better 
than  Kettchum's.  I  have  smoked  them  for  years. 
Although  I  switch  off  now  and  then  to  another 
brand  of  imported  goods  I  invariably  come  back 
to  the  Henry  Clay." 

Thus,  between  the  pleasant  whiffs,  Mr.  Upton 
and  Caleb  talked  over  the  coming  outlook  for 
Rushton.  "Do  you  know,"  Mr.  Upton  said,  "that 
Rushton  has  changed  very  little  in  the  past  thirty 
years ;  with  the  exception  of  the  pulp  mill  and  the 
few  tenement  houses  which  the  company  has 
erected,  I  can  really  see  no  change  at  all.  Yet  I 


CALEB  ABBOTT  75 

think  Rushton  could  be  made  into  a  thriving  vil 
lage,  if  you  could  get  an  electric  line  in  from 

D —    -  to  connect  with  R ,  going  through  here 

to  Oak  Valley  and  Brainard's  Falls.  Then  some 
new  industry  ought  to  be  exploited  to  bring 
people  here ;  a  woolen  mill,  shoe  factory,  or  some 
thing  of  the  kind,  that  would  start  things  going. 
Some  far-seeing  young  man  is  needed  here;  one 
who  is  ready  to  see  opportunities  as  they  come 
along  and  make  the  most  of  them.  He  added 
laughingly,  "You  and  I  could  make  the  old  town 
wake  up." 

"Yes,"  replied  Caleb.  "But  in  the  first  place, 
an  electric  line  is  out  of  the  question.  The  X,  Y 
&  Z  line  doesn't  allow  electric  roads  in  this  state. 
The  only  way  to  get  a  road  through  here  is  to  get 
a  bill  through  the  Legislature,  which  would  force 
them  to  build  a  line  themselves.  I  really  think 
they  will  some  day;  even  now  there  is  quite  a  lot 
of  freight  that  has  to  be  teamed  for  miles  to  the 
nearest  transportation  point.  There  is  one  thing 
which  is  lying  around  here  loose  that  no  one  has 
paid  any  attention  to  up  to  the  present  time ;  that 
is  granite.  It  is  something  that  I  am  entirely 


76  CALEB  ABBOTT 

ignorant  about,  but  it  seems  to  me  as  if  a  quarry 
could  be  started  here  that  would  pay.  I  am  going 
to  look  it  up  some  day." 

Thus  the  afternoon  passed  all  too  quickly. 
Supper  time  came,  followed  by  a  pleasant  evening, 
then  they  retired  to  sleep ;  the  sleep  that  only  those 
in  the  country  know  how  to  enjoy,  that  perfect 
quiet  of  unbroken  slumber  which  knows  no  dis 
turbance  unless  it  be  the  notes  of  the  whip-poor- 
will  across  the  river.  In  the  morning  Mr.  Upton 
reluctantly  took  his  departure  for  home.  Mar- 
jorie,  brave  girl  that  she  tried  to  be,  nearly  broke 
down  when  she  bade  her  father  farewell  at  the 
depot.  The  parting  over,  however,  with  Caleb  on 
the  drive  back  to  Rushton  somehow  her  spirits 
returned  and  she  seemed  happy  and  contented. 

Caleb  was  again  busy  all  day  long,  and  every 
day.  Long  days  they  were,  too,  getting  up  at  five, 
that  he  might  accomplish  the  chores  and  milking 
before  breakfast,  then  off  he  went  again  at  seven 
with  his  team  to  work  all  day,  except  for  the 
hurried  hour  at  noon.  The  evening  chores  fol 
lowed  even  before  supper.  Thus  it  was  often  long 
past  eight  o'clock  at  night  before  Caleb  could  sit 


CALEB  ABBOTT  77 

down  for  a  chat  with  his  mother  and  Marjorie.  He 
hardly  knew  what  it  was  to  feel  tired  bodily,  yet 
even  no\v  he  was  looking  forward  with  longing 
hopes  for  the  time  when  he  could  lay  aside  such 
drudgery  and  have  employment  more  congenial  to 
his  nature.  His  father  never  intended  that  he 
should  be  a  farmer.  He  knew  from  experience 
that  while  the  life  of  a  farmer  was  to  a  certain 
extent  a  free  life,  still  it  was  continuous  work  from 
morning  till  night,  and  hard  work,  with  but  small 
returns  in  comparison  with  the  labor  itself.  David 
Abbott  had  bright  hopes  for  Caleb.  It  had  been 
his  intention  to  educate  him  for  the  bar,  and  had 
the  father  lived,  the  son  probably  would  never 
have  realized  the  sacrifices  he  would  have  made  for 
him.  Now  all  was  changed,  and  he  had  his  own 
mark  to  make.  Life  looked  serious,  indeed.  Still 
Caleb  was  determined  more  than  ever  to  succeed, 
although  having  to  earn  his  own  way,  success  now 
seemed  a  long  distance  ahead.  He  had  noticed 
some  advertisements  lately  of  a  course  of  law 
studies  at  home.  He  was  anxious  to  begin  the 
study  of  law,  but  having  but  little  time  at  present 
he  felt  obliged  to  wait  until  the  coming  winter. 


78  CALEB  ABBOTT 

when  the  evenings  would  be  much  longer  and 
there  would  be  fewer  hours  to  work. 

Caleb  came  in  one  night  a  little  out  of  sorts; 
somehow  everything  had  gone  wrong  throughout 
the  day.  Throwing  himself  into  the  great  arm 
chair  he  sat  moodily  gazing  into  space. 

"What's  the  matter,  my  boy?"  kindly  asked  his 
mother,  who,  with  a  mother's  quick  intuition  saw 
that  there  was  something  wrong.  "Are  you 
tired?" 

"No,  mother,  not  tired.  I  never  get  tired,  just 
a  little  weary  and  cross;  that's  all,"  he  replied. 
"This  has  been  an  off  day,  I  guess.  To  begin  with, 
the  first  thing  this  morning  Stella  kicked  over  the 
milk,  Jack  stepped  on  my  foot,  and  then  Gill  threw 
a  shoe,  so  I  lost  an  hour  getting  him  shod.  Then, 
when  I  got  home  the  cows  were  out  of  the  pas 
ture,  and  I  had  to  chase  them  for  an  hour.  To 
cap  the  climax,  I  forgot  to  order  grain,  and  the 
horses  won't  have  any  for  breakfast." 

"Why,  Caleb,"  replied  his  mother,  with  a  smile, 
"you  have  had  your  share  of  troubles  for  today. 
But  as  to  the  grain,  I  don't  think  I  would  worry 
any  about  that.  I  am  sure  they  get  feed  enough 


CALEB  ABBOTT  79 

even  if  they  do  go  without  grain  just  once.  You 
have  plenty  of  hay.  Some  horses  never  get  any 
grain  at  all.  Do  you  remember  the  story  your 
father  used  to  tell  about  Anderson's  horse?  How 
he  never  got  any  grain,  until  one  day  Jim  found  a 
bag  of  oats  by  the  roadside,  and  took  them  home. 
The  poor  old  horse  did  not  have  strength  enough 
to  eat  them,  so  Jim  got  his  boy  to  blow  them  into 
him  with  a  bean  blower ;  and  then  he  had  to  put  a 
blanket  over  him  so  they  wouldn't  come  out 
between  his  ribs." 

Caleb  had  to  laugh  when  he  recalled  the  story, 
and  saw  the  old  horse  rise  before  his  vision.  The 
boys  used  to  call  him  a  hat-rack,  so  tall  and  bony 
was  he.  Besides  being  spavined,  cockle-jointed, 
knockkneed  and  long-haired,  he  was  a  cribber  and 
had  the  spring  halt.  One  of  the  neighbors  said 
he  also  had  a  Canadian  door  knob,  though  what 
that  was,  Caleb  was  still  in  ignorance.  Poor  old 
horse,  sacred  is  his  memory !  He  was  twenty-five 
years  old  at  least  when  Jim  bought  him,  though 
Jim  had  been  assured  he  was  eight.  (By  the  way, 
a  horse  is  never  over  eight  when  you  are  trading.) 
Jim  kept  him  for  three  years  after  that  and  then 


80  CALEB  ABBOTT 

traded  him  for  a  choate.  Jim  was  a  Yankee  for 
trading.  He  "swapped  even"  with  Jack  Curry. 
Then  he  had  Jack  bring  over  the  choate,  and  after 
nailing  him  up  in  the  hog  pen,  he  told  Jack  that 
the  horse  was  down  in  the  pasture.  That  was  true 
enough,  the  horse  was  down  there,  and  he  could 
not  get  up  either.  When  Curry  raved  and  wanted 
his  choate  back  Jim  grinned  and  said,  "A  trade's  a 
trade;  there's  your  hoss;  take  him  along  if  he 
won't  go  himself,  get  a  drag  and  move  him  off  my 
land.  He's  your'n  now." 

Curry  went  back  without  his  horse.  That  night 
the  horse  died.  Jim  had  to  bury  him  right  there 
in  the  pasture  and  Jim  didn't  hanker  for  work, 
either.  As  he  said,  he  didn't  think  he  got  much 
the  best  of  the  trade.  "  'Twas  mighty  hard  diggin' 
down  in  that  stony  pasture,  an'  it  takes  a  pretty 
big  hole  for  a  hoss  of  that  size."  Caleb  laughed 
long  and  heartily  as  he  compared  Anderson's  poor, 
skinny  beast  with  his  own  horses,  big  creatures, 
broad  of  flank,  thick  necked  and  sleek.  He  told 
his  mother  that  he  thought  they  would  after  all 
live  over  night  without  that  one  feed  of  grain. 
Turning  to  Marjorie,  Caleb  asked : 


CALEB  ABBOTT  81 

"What  have  you  been  doing  all  day,  Miss 
Upton  ?" 

"Oh,"  smilingly  answered  Marjorie,  "I  have 
been  walking  all  over  town.  I  went  down  across 
the  meadow,  and  away  over  to  the  hill  that  you 
call  'sunset  hill.'  Then  I  crossed  the  long  bridge 
and  went  through  the  woods  to  Maple  street,  back 
home  again.  And  do  you  know  I  met  a  young 
lady  about  my  own  age,  I  should  judge,  of  whom 
I  had  to  ask  the  way.  She  seemed  strangely  frus 
trated  at  first,  and  I  thought  by  her  manner  that  I 
should  not  like  her.  But  then  she  laughed,  and 
she  looked  so  lovely  with  her  face  all  smiles  that  I 
was  completely  carried  away  with  her.  She  said, 
'You  must  be  the  new  boarder  at  Mrs.  Abbott's; 
are  you  not  ?  Of  course  I  answered  'yes ;'  and 
then  somehow  we  got  acquainted,  the  way  girls 
will.  I  told  her  my  name  and  she'  told  me  hers, 
Hilda  Whitney.  I  am  going  over  to  see  her.  I 
think  she  is  just  charming." 

"Oh,  yes!  Everybody  likes  Hilda,"  replied 
Caleb.  "She  is  a  great  favorite  in  the  village.  She 
is  always  doing  some  kind  act." 


CHAPTER  V. 

FARM    LIFE    ON    ABBOTT    HILL. 

The  spring  went.  Summer  came.  Nearly  all 
traces  of  the  great  flood  had  disappeared.  Roads 
had  been  repaired,  bridges  rebuilt,  and  the  new 
dam  was  fast  nearing  completion.  Caleb  had  been 
busy  during  the  pleasant  days  with  his  team ;  rainy 
days  found  him  cleaning  harnesses,  oiling  the 
wagons,  or  doing  an  odd  job  or  two  with  hammer 
and  saw,  tinkering  at  the  hundred  and  one  little 
things  that  keep  a  thrifty  farmer  busy.  Speaking 
of  farmers  it  is  strange,  when  you  think  of  it,  how 
two  farmers  can  live  such  different  lives.  One  of 
them  is  busy  all  the  time;  he  never  has  a  minute 
to  call  his  own.  While  the  other,  and  I  am  sorry 
to  say  there  are  many  of  this  class  in  the  country, 
never  seem  to  do  anything.  The  latter,  it  is  true, 
may  arise  at  daylight  to  go  shambling  out  to  the 
barn,  giving  the  cow  a  kick  to  wake  her  out  of  a 


CALEB  ABBOTT  83 

sound  sleep,  and  milking  her  because  he  simply 
must.     That  is,  if  his  wife  doesn't;  because  in  a 
great  many  cases  the  wife  does.     He  also  throws 
feed  into  the  manger  of  the  old  family  horse,  be 
cause  the  old  horse  must  eat,  too.     He  comes  in 
and  eats  his   breakfast  of  porkscraps,   fried  over 
potatoes  and  biscuits.     Returning  to  the  barn  he 
hitches  up  the  old  mare;  off  he  drives  to  the  vil 
lage,  where  he  spends  the  remainder  of  the  fore 
noon  at  the  general  store,  or  post  office,  sitting  on 
a  dry-goods  box,  his  long  legs  dangling  lazily  over 
the  sides  while  he  whittles  away  at  an  odd  piece  of 
stick.    A  half  dozen  more  of  his  kind  sit  about  the 
doorway   or  on  the   steps,  swapping   stories  and 
gossip.    A  sewing  circle  never  equaled  one  of  these 
gatherings.     Returning  home  in  time  for  dinner, 
he  growls  at  his  biggest  boy  because  his  wife  has 
had  to  cut  wood  with  which  to  get  dinner,  in  addi 
tion  to  the  other  duties  which  are  always  many. 
After  dinner  he  remembers  that  he  must  drive  over 
to  Ellery  Holt's  to  borrow  a  plough  or  a  cultivator. 
It  ends  in  his  spending  his  afternoon  there.     This 
man's  farm  is  run  out;  the  few  potatoes  he  has 
planted  need  hoeing;  his  corn  has  not  even  been 


84  CALEB  ABBOTT 

planted  as  yet  and  he  guesses  it's  too  late  now. 
Probably  he  will  not  even  cut  all  his  hay;  only  just 
what  he  thinks  he  will  need  to  carry  him  along  into 
another  season.  Yet  this  mortal  drags  out  an 
existence  while  he  envies  his  thrifty  neighbor  and 
wonders  how  he  can  afford  to  repaint  his  buildings 
or  buy  a  new  two-horse  mower. 

Caleb  belonged  to  the  thrifty  class.  One  never 
found  him  at  the  country  store,  talking  of  his 
neighbors.  He  had  even  given  up  going  to  the 
post  office  since  Marjorie  came,  as  she  liked  to  run 
over  for  the  mail.  His  crops  had  been  planted.  His 
potatoes  had  been  taken  care  of,  cultivated  and 
hoed.  The  field  wras  indeed  a  handsome  sight,  a 
solid  mass  of  glossy  green,  except  from  every  hill 
a  bunch  of  snow  white  blossoms  with  their  yellow 
centres.  His  vegetables  in  general  were  in  fine 
condition.  Peas,  beans,  corn,  alike  were  thrifty, 
while  Marjorie  had  her  own  little  garden  of  let 
tuce,  radishes,  parsley,  and  other  small  vegetables. 

Caleb  was  now  in  the  midst  of  haying,  and  was 
busy  every  day,  cutting  with  his  two-horse  buck 
eye,  both  for  himself  and  for  the  neighbors  who 
hired  their  cutting  done.  This  kind  of  work  paid 


CALEB  ABBOTT  85 

even  better  than  teaming.  What  with  the  money 
from  Mr.  Upton  for  Marjorie's  board,  and  the 
keep  of  her  saddle  horse,  the  eggs  and  butter,  and 
the  returns  from  teaming,  Caleb  was  actually  pil 
ing  up  money.  Money  was  his  great  hope  and 
ambition  because  he  was  far-sighted  enough  to 
know  that  while  money  might  be  the  root  of  all 
evil  one  cannot  do  anything  in  this  world  without 
a  barrel  of  the  root.  But  hard  work  was  telling 
on  him,  although  he  tried  to  hide  it  from  his 
mother.  His  health  was  good,  but  he  had  worked 
himself  thin.  There  was  no  fat  to  be  seen ;  nothing 
but  bone  and  muscle.  Often  when  he  came  home 
after  a  hard  day's  work,  his  mother  would  ask  him 
if  he  were  tired  and  suggest  his  taking  a  day  off. 

"At  least  go  to  the  picnic  at  Silver  Lake. 
Everybody  in  the  village  is  going  there." 

Caleb  answered :  "No,  Mother,  not  yet.  I 
must  do  all  the  work  I  can  while  there  is  work  to 
be  done.  It  is  only  for  a  few  years  at  the  most." 

And  so  Caleb  kept  at  it.  Summer  changed  into 
fall ;  the  most  glorious  time  of  the  year.  The  fields 
and  meadows  were  still  green  from  the  early  fall 
rains.  The  hillsides,  covered  with  maples,  birch, 


86  CALEB  ABBOTT 

beech,  hemlock  and  pine,  assumed  manifold  colors. 
The  red  and  gold  of  the  maples  blended  with  the 
dull  browns  and  purple  of  the  beeches  and  birch. 
Clustering  among  them  or  forming  a  background 
in  the  rear,  were  the  dark  greens  of  the- hemlock 
or  the  lighter  greens  of  the  pine,  the  trees  which 
throw  out  an  odor  of  health-giving  strength. 

Marjorie  hardly  knew  where  the  days  had  gone 
to,  so  swiftly  had  they  passed.  She  was  up  early 
every  morning.  Not  that  she  was  "up  with  the 
lark."  After  years  of  New  York  life  one  is  not  apt 
to  rival  the  birds.  The  habit  of  arising  at  four 
o'clock  in  the  morning  is  left  for  country  people 
who  retire  when  chickens  go  to  roost.  But  Mar 
jorie  was  up  early;  surely  by  six  in  the  morning, 
so  as  to  have  breakfast  with  Mrs.  Abbott  and 
Caleb.  Later  she  spent  an  hour  in  her  room,  writ 
ing  to  her  father.  This  was  one  of  her  every  day 
duties,  a  duty  of  which  she  never  tired.  Somehow 
she  always  found  enough  to  write  about  from  this 
new  home  in  the  country.  After  she  had  worked 
in  her  garden,  she  joined  Mrs.  Abbott  in  the 
kitchen  where  she  was  learning  to  cook.  She  had 
by  this  time  become  proficient,  and  many  a  dainty 


CALEB  ABBOTT  87 

dish  she  prepared  with  her  own  hands  for  Caleb, 
dainties  which  hardly  belonged  to  a  country  bill- 
of-fare.  She  had  learned  Caleb's  likes  and  dislikes, 
and  nothing  gave  her  more  pleasure  than  to  sur 
prise  him  at  supper  with  a  pattie  or  omelet,  or 
some  fancy  cake.  Caleb  appreciated  these  little 
tokens  of  friendship. 

"I  am  only  afraid,"  he  would  remark,  "that  you 
will  spoil  me,  or  bring  on  an  attack  of  indigestion 
from  such  rich  foods."  He  would  laughingly  say: 
"Beans  and  biscuits,  hog  and  'taters  is  our  general 
diet,  you  know."  Then  after  dinner  Marjorie 
would  ride  or  walk.  If  she  walked  she  would 
gather  wild  flowers  for  the  table  and  her  own 
room.  She  discovered  the  first  Mayflowers,  the 
beautiful  trailing  arbutus,  those  dainty  flowers  of 
pink  and  white,  whose  fragrance  was  so  exquisite 
that  it  would  fill  the  whole  house.  Then  later 
cowslips  and  violets,  blood  root  and  anemones 
found  their  way  into  the  home.  Or  she  brought 
home  in  June  great  clusters  of  the  pink  laurel 
which  covers  the  hillside  all  the  year  round  with 
its  beautiful  shining  green  leaves.  The  later  sum 
mer  flowers,  daisies,  lilies,  red  and  yellow  and 


88  CALEB  ABBOTT 

white,  each  in  its  special  beauty,  one  by  one  Mar- 
jorie  captured  them  for  her  own  joyous  use. 

Marjorie  had  also  made  a  study  of  birds.  She 
could  now  tell  the  song  of  the  robin  and  cat  bird, 
the  linnet  and  sparrow,  or  the  beautiful  notes  of 
the  Maryland  yellow  throat,  the  golden  robin. 
The  weird  song  of  the  grosbeak  in  the  evening 
time  lured  her  out ;  while  the  shrill  cry  of  the  blue 
jay,  or  the  notes  of  the  meadow  lark  meant  much 
to  her  in  her  daily  walks.  Much  of  this  knowledge 
she  obtained  from  Hilda.  They  had  become  fast 
friends  and  confidantes,  riding  or  walking  to 
gether  nearly  every  day.  Hilda's  father,  Cyrus 
Whitney,  had  foreclosed  a  mortgage  on  a  horse 
which  was  really  a  good  saddler,  and  Hilda  had 
little  difficulty  in  gaining  permission  to  use  it. 
She  soon  rode  fully  as  fearlessly  as  Marjorie;  and 
many  a  ride  did  they  take  far  out  into  the  country. 

The  evenings  were  the  best  hours  of  the  day  to 
Marjorie,  when  she  and  Caleb  were  sitting  to 
gether  on  the  broad  piazza,  while  Mrs.  Abbott  was 
busy  with  the  last  household  daily  duties.  To 
gether  they  would  sit  chatting,  Caleb  with  his  fra 
grant  cigar,  and  Marjorie  with  some  dainty  needle- 


CALEB  ABBOTT  89 

work,  half  listening  to  the  whip-poor-wills  and 
katy-dids.  The  sunsets  were  wonderfully  beautiful 
that  summer;  one  night  the  sky  lit  up  as  if  with 
one  great  fire,  another  the  heavens  streaming 
purple  and  gold,  or  perhaps  again  nothing  but  the 
azure  blue  of  the  sky  itself.  Marjorie  was  unex- 
plainably  happy.  She  often  wished  in  the  solitude 
of  her  room  that  life  might  continue  thus  forever. 
There  was  one  thing  lacking  only  to  fill  her  cup 
of  happiness  to  overflowing,  and  that  was  the  pres 
ence  of  her  dearly  beloved  father.  He  had  hinted 
lately  in  some  of  his  letters  to  her  of  retiring  from 
business  and  buying  a  country  home  in  or  near 
Rushton,  suggesting  that  he  and  she  should  go 
south  or  to  California  for  the  winters.  Marjorie 
greeted  this  proposition  with  rejoicing,  but  the 
thought  of  the  winters  away  from  Rushton, — why 
should  she  feel  lonely  at  the  thought  of  leaving 
this  little  country  village?  Ah!  Marjorie,  it  is  not 
the  thought  of  leaving  Rushton  that  makes  you 
lonely,  there  is  something  else  which  binds  you 
here ;  there  is  some  one  who  holds  your  heart  and 
you  yourself  do  not  yet  know  it.  But  the  day  of 
awakening  is  near!  and  Marjorie,  when  she  knelt 


90  CALEB  ABBOTT 

at  night  by  her  bedside,  with  her  head  bowed  in 
her  hands,  added  another  petition  to  her  prayer 
which  had  never  varied  since  her  mother  died, 
"God  bless  my  father, — and  Caleb."  Yet  she,  with 
a  soul  as  pure  and  white  as  the  snowy  sheets  of  her 
bed,  knew  not  herself  why  she  was  so  happy  at 
Rushton. 

Hilda  often  ran  over  to  the  Abbott's  in  these 
days.  Her  father  had  withdrawn  his  objection  to 
her  calling  there  since  Marjorie  had  arrived.  He 
had  in  fact  no  real  reason  for  refusing  to  allow 
Hilda  to  keep  up  the  old  friendship,  except  his 
natural  stubbornness  and  the  fact  that  the  Abbotts 
were  not  wealthy.  But  now  with  the  addition  to 
their  family  of  a  banker's  daughter,  and  that 
banker  reported  to  be  a  millionaire,  why,  that  put 
things  in  a  different  light !  It  would  do  no  harm 
for  Hilda  to  cultivate  such  an  acquaintance,  and 
perhaps  through  the  daughter  he  himself  could 
profit;  he  might  be  able  to  place  some  money  at 
advantage  with  Mr.  Upton.  Thus  it  was  that 
Hilda  was  a  frequent  caller  at  the  Abbotts. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THANKSGIVING    TIME. 

It  was  nearing  Thanksgiving  time.  Many  had 
been  the  mysterious  confabs  between  Marjorie  and 
Hilda  who  planned  real  gifts  for  which  to  be 
thankful.  There  came  at  last  a  real  November  day, 
when  the  sky  was  a  dull  lead  color,  and  the  wind 
whistled  about  the  house.  Leaves  scurried  down 
the  lane,  around  the  corners,  then  up  and  down  the 
walk,  never  stopping  for  long  in  any  one  place,  but 
hurrying  here  and  there  as  if  they  were  never  satis 
fied  to  rest  until  they  should  finally  bring  up 
against  some  sheltered  spot,  there  at  last  to  find 
rest  in  one  great  heap.  The  raindrops  fell  slowly 
at  first,  then,  as  the  wind  increased  they  came 
faster  and  faster  until  the  whole  outside  world 
looked  dreary.  The  wind  howled  and  moaned, 
driving  the  rain  against  the  windows  until  it 
seemed  as  if  even  the  windows  could  not  withstand 


92  CALEB  ABBOTT 

the  onslaught.  It  was  one  of  those  days  in  the 
country  so  suggestive  of  an  open  fireplace,  apples 
and  cider. 

Caleb  was  at  home,  and  having  nothing  partic 
ular  to  do,  he  stayed  in  the  house.  The  potatoes 
had  been  dug  and  housed  long  ago.  The  corn 
which  had  stood  shocked  in  the  field  so  many 
weeks  was  in  the  barn  and  husked.  The  barn  and 
house  were  tightened  and  banked  for  the  winter, 
the  woodshed  filled  to  the  roof.  Now  with  a  barn 
so  full  of  hay  and  fodder  that  there  was  scarcely 
room  for  the  stock,  the  cellar  full  of  apples  to  be 
marketed  later  when  prices  were  higher,  the  cellar 
also  crowded  with  potatoes,  cabbages,  beets  and 
other  winter  vegetables,  a  cask  of  new  cider,  and 
one  going  to  vinegar;  a  pork  barrel  filled  to  the 
brim  and  another  barrel  with  beef  to  corn,  the 
harvest  season  really  seemed  to  have  come  to  an 
end.  Caleb  had  fattened  and  killed  a  beef.  There 
were  no  bills  to  pay,  a  bank  account  had  been 
started,  and  best  of  all  good  health  reigned  in  the 
home. 

Caleb  sat  before  the  roaring  fire,  contented.  A 
knock  at  the  door  and  Caleb  jumped  up  to  let  the 


CALEB  ABBOTT  93 

traveler  in,  wondering  who  could  be  out  such  a 
day.  In  came  Hilda,  her  garments  dripping,  but 
with  rosy  cheeks  and  laughing  eyes. 

"I  am  afraid  I  shall  spoil  your  nice,  clean  floor," 
she  remarked  to  Mrs.  Abbott,  after  greeting  her 
and  Caleb. 

"Oh,  never  mind,  dear,"  Mrs.  Abbott  replied, 
"it  will  wash,  you  know." 

"But  what  a  storm!"  exclaimed  Caleb.  "How 
did  you  dare  to  venture  out  today  ?" 

"Oh!"  replied  Hilda  with  a  laugh,  "I  simply 
could  not  stay  at  home.  Besides  Marjorie  and  I 
have  lots  of  business  to  talk  over,  and  we  need 
your  assistance,  too,  Caleb.  Because  it's  such  a 
stormy  day  I  thought  perhaps  you  might  be  at 
home.  You  are  such  a  busy  man  nowadays,  you 
know,  that  you  can't  find  time  to  talk  to  old 
friends,  so  old  friends  have  to  beard  the  lion  in  his 
den  when  they  wish  particularly  to  see  him." 
\Yhile  talking  Hilda  had  been  taking  off  her  wraps 
and  changing  her  rubber  boots  for  a  pair  of  slip 
pers.  She  had  followed  Caleb  into  the  great  front 
room. 

"So  I  am  to  be  bothered  with  you  two  girls,  am 


94  CALEB  ABBOTT 

I?"  said  Caleb,  as  soon  as  they  were  all  seated. 
"Well !"  with  a  sigh,  "I  am  going  to  make  the  best 
of  it,  and  I  guess  I  won't  have  a  very  hard  time, 
either.  Now  what  is  the  business  so  important 
that  you  need  my  help  ?" 

"Oh,  not  much!"  answered  Hilda.  "Marjorie 
and  I  are  going  to  make  up  several  baskets  for 
Thanksgiving.  In  the  first  place  we  want  to  know 
how  many  poor  families  there  are  in  Rushton,  and 
who  they  are." 

"We  don't  wish  to  leave  out  anyone ;  neither  do 
we  wish  to  offend  anyone  who  will  feel  above 
accepting  so-called  charity,"  said  Marjorie. 

"Well,  let's  see,"  said  Caleb,  "there  are  not  many 
in  Rushton  who  really  need  help.  There's  Ander 
son's  family;  they  would  be  glad  to  receive  a 
basket.  Then  there's  Ed  Holt's  folks;  and  the 
McCarthy  family  on  the  west  side.  Let  me  see, 
Jake  Merrow's  people;  they  have  never  been  in 
need  of  help  in  the  past,  but  since  Jake  broke  his 
leg  they  have  had  rather  a  hard  time  to  get  along ; 
a  turkey  there  would  not  go  amiss.  Then  there  is 
the  Widow  Fleming's.  She  has  got  a  large  fam 
ily  of  six  children  besides  herself,  and  she  has  to 


CALEB  ABBOTT  95 

take  in  washing.  You  can  put  them  down.  Then, 
there  is  the  Frenchman  that  got  blown  up  and  lost 
his  eyesight,  La  Pere  I  think  his  name  is.  Let  me 
think,  are  there  any  more?  Oh  yes,  old  man 
Waters;  I  guess  these  are  all  I  can  think  of." 

"Seven  in  all,"  exclaimed  Marjorie,  who  had 
been  counting  on  her  fingers. 

"Then  there  are  the  baskets  to  be  delivered," 
said  Hilda.  "Can  we  depend  on  you  to  drive  us 
around  ?  It  can  be  after  your  work  is  done  for  the 
day." 

"Oh,  yes!"  Caleb  replied,  "nothing  would  please 
me  better  than  to  drive  with  you  two  young  ladies 
even  on  an  errand  of  mercy.  I  can  help  you,  too, 
I  am  sure,  if  you  will  both  go  with  me  for  com 
pany.  I  might  be  afraid  to  go  alone  after  dark, 
but  if  you  two  go  I  won't  need  any  lantern,  your 
eyes  will  light  up  the  way." 

"Now  don't  flatter  us  like  that,"  said  Marjorie. 
"It  sounds  too  much  like  New  York,  and  I  prefer 
Rushton." 

"Oh,  yes!  we  will  both  go,"  said  Hilda,  "and 
you  won't  need  our  eyes  for  lanterns,  because  if 
pleasant  there  will  be  almost  a  full  moon." 


96  CALEB  ABBOTT 

"Is  there  really  to  be  a  moon?"  asked  Marjorie. 
"I  hope  it  will  be  pleasant,  and  if  we  can  only  have 
snow  enough  for  sleighing,  won't  the  ride  be 
grand !" 

"Well,  now  that  part  of  the  program  is  settled," 
remarked  Hilda,  "where  do  we  buv  the  turkeys? 
We  want  nice  ones,  and  one  or  two  extra  large 
ones  to  give  to  the  ones  with  the  largest  families." 

"I  guess  I  can  supply  seven  turkeys;  so  that  you 
won't  have  to  buy  any  at  all,  that  is  if  mother  is 
willing.  You  know  we  are  partners,  and  she  has 
the  say  about  the  feathered  stock.  There  was  an 
agent  here  the  other  day  who  made  mother  an 
offer  for  the  lot." 

"Oh,  no !  Mr.  Abbott,  we  certainly  don't  expect 
you  to  give  away  your  turkeys ;  we  intend  to  buy 
them,"  said  Marjorie. 

"And  why  not?"  answered  Caleb.  "You  can 
give  the  fruit,  vegetables  and  groceries,  I,  the 
turkeys.  Isn't  that  fair,  Hilda?"  he  asked.  And 
Hilda  replied : 

"I  think  this  is  not  for  me  to  settle.  You  and 
Marjorie  must  decide  it  yourselves." 

"Well,"  continued  Caleb,  "I  have  often  thought 


CALEB  ABBOTT  97 

I  should  like  to  do  something  of  this  kind;  and 
now  that  you  and  Hilda  have  started  it  we  will 
form  a  company  of  three.  I  will  supply  the 
turkeys,  Miss  Upton." 

Hilda  found  herself  comparing  these  sentiments 
with  those  of  her  father.  "No,  I  won't  give  any 
turkeys  to  anyone!"  he  had  answered  her  when 
Hilda  broached  the  subject  to  him.  "Let  'em  raise 
turkeys  or  eat  salt  fish.  If  you  are  fool  enough  to 
spend  your  pocket  money  for  turkeys  for  some 
lazy  good-for-nothing  loafer,  go  ahead,  but  don't 
ask  me.  My  money  comes  too  hard  to  give  away." 
He,  the  richest  man  in  Rushton ;  the  other  earning 
his  daily  bread  by  the  sweat  of  his  brow.  Involun 
tarily  Hilda's  thoughts  wandered  back  to  last 
spring  when  the  town  talk  was  of  Caleb  and  his 
daring  rescue  at  the  flood.  What  a  big  heart  he 
had!  Oh,  if  that  heart  was  only  hers! 

These  preliminaries  having  been  settled  satisfac 
torily,  Hilda  and  Marjorie  talked  of  what  else  the 
baskets  should  contain,  with  now  and  then  a  sug 
gestion  from  Mrs.  Abbott,  who  had  come  in  to 
announce  that  dinner  was  ready. 

"Of  course  you  will  stop  to  dinner,  Hilda,"  an 


98  CALEB  ABBOTT 

invitation  which  Hilda  gladly  accepted.  At  dinner 
Caleb  spoke  to  his  mother  about  the  turkeys. 

"Why,  Caleb !"  she  said  with  a  laugh,  "as  if  you 
had  to  ask  me  about  those  turkeys.  I  have  already 
promised  one  to  the  parson,  and  we  shall  have  the 
big  gobbler  for  ourselves.  The  rest  you  may  do 
with  as  you  see  fit." 

The  dinner  party  was  a  merry  one  and  the  talk 
was  of  Thanksgiving.  They  were  very  enthusi 
astic  regarding  their  plans  to  help  such  poor 
deserving  families  who  could  not  afford  the  luxury 
of  a  turkey  dinner  without  which  Thanksgiving 
day  is  indeed  almost  a  mockery. 

During  the  afternoon  the  weather  suddenly 
changed,  as  it  often  does  in  New  England.  When 
Hilda  started  for  home  it  was  cold  and  freezing, 
with  now  and  then  a  feathery  flake  of  snow,  a 
warning  of  the  winter  so  soon  to  come.  Caleb, 
who  with  Marjorie  was  bidding  Hilda  adieu  at 
the  door,  remarked : 

"It  looks  now  as  if  winter  would  set  in  early. 
You  may  get  your  sleigh-ride  on  Thanksgiving 
after  all." 

"Oh !  how  I  hope  we  shall,"  exclaimed  Marjorie. 


CALEB  ABBOTT  99 

"I  am  looking  forward  so  to  a  sleigh  ride  in  the 
country!  It  must  be  fascinating  to  spin  along 
these  roads.  The  beautiful  snow  around  us  every 
where,  with  no  electric  plows  to  throw  it  up  in 
heaps,  and  no  salt  to  make  bare  places  every 
where." 

"Yes,"  answered  Caleb,  "to  one  who  has  never 
had  a  sleigh  ride  far  up  in  the  country,  it  is  indeed 
an  experience.  We  don't  plow  the  snow  off  the 
roads  here,  but  use  a  great  six-horse  roller  to  roll 
it  down.  Every  fall  of  snow  during  the  winter  is 
rolled  until  it  is  almost  as  hard  as  ice.  You  will 
see  no  grimy,  mealy  mixture  called  snow  here,  but 
the  real  article  in  all  its  glory." 

"Yes,"  said  Hilda,  "although  the  winter  is  a 
busy  time  in  the  country,  there  is  also  much  to 
enjoy.  But  don't  stand  there  in  the  cold  any 
longer  Marjorie;  good  bye  until  tomorrow." 

"Good  bye,"  replied  Marjorie. 

There  is  nothing  which  creates  so  much  excite 
ment  in  a  small  country  village,  next  to  the  arrival 
of  a  new  parson,  as  the  advent  of  a  new  doctor; 
such  an  event  had  just  happened  in  Rushton.  Dr. 
John  Sherman  had  dropped  into  town  from  no  one 


100  CALEB  ABBOTT 

knew  just  where.  He  had  at  first  stopped  at  the 
hotel,  but  finding  that  hardly  satisfactory,  he  had 
decided  to  leave  the  hotel,  and  started  forth  to  find 
a  more  congenial  boarding  place.  At  the  outset 
he  met  with  difficulty.  The  villagers  looked 
upon  Dr.  Sherman  with  more  or  less  suspicion, 
some  of  the  old  settlers  even  avoiding  him.  as  if 
he  were  here  for  questionable  purposes,  or  to  sell 
them  a  gold  brick — same  as  Deacon  Foss  over  in 
Weed  Village  bought  a  year  ago.  However,  he 
at  last  found  a  home  with  the  very  people  he  most 
enjoyed.  Old  Dr.  Higgins  had  been  the  village 
physician  for  thirty-five  years.  He  had  never  had 
a  medical  rival  in  town,  because  there  was  not 
enough  practice  in  Rushton  for  two  physicians. 

For  thirty-five  years  he  had  had  a  monopoly  of 
the  local  patients,  young  and  old.  Being  a  man 
of  simple  tastes,  together  with  having  as  a  help 
mate  a  frugal  wife,  he  had  laid  away  quite  a  little 
money.  But  now  he  was  getting  old ;  rheumatism 
was  troubling  him  and  although  he  had  tried  his 
own  skill  upon  himself,  together  with  many  patent 
medicines  and  plasters,  he  had  as  yet  found  no 
relief.  He  did  not  so  much  mind  making  his  daily 


CALEB  ABBOTT  101 

rounds, — he  felt  it  his  duty  to  call  on  all  old 
patients,  as  he  had  done  for  years, — but  he  looked 
upon  the  increase  of  new  patients  almost  as  an 
affliction  and  he  decidedly  hated  to  get  out  of  bed 
for  a  drive  at  midnight  of  five  or  six  miles  to  an 
outlying  village.  He  had  almost  decided  to  give 
up  his  practice  altogether  and  let  some  younger 
man  attend  to  it.  Still  he  had  patients  who 
thought  no  one  like  their  own  doctor  and  who,  like 
other  patients,  with  other  family  physicians,  would 
have  no  one  else  while  he  lived.  Many  times  Dr. 
Higgins  had  thought  that  if  he  could  only  find 
some  young  man  willing  to  locate  here  who  would 
take  charge  of  all  the  new  practice  and  also  of 
what  old  practice  he  could  relinquish,  then  he  him 
self  might  go  to  bed  at  night  and  rest  without 
being  disturbed.  So  it  was  when  Dr.  Sherman 
drifted  into  town,  fresh  from  hospital  work  and 
possessing  a  proper  diploma  with  a  letter  of  intro 
duction  to  Dr.  Higgins,  the  old  doctor  was  really 
glad  to  see  him.  He  was  even  more  glad  when 
the  new  doctor  told  him  that  he  thought  of  locat 
ing  somewhere  in  the  vicinity  and  thought  well  of 
Rushton,  adding,  however,  that  he  did  not  want  to 


102  CALEB  ABBOTT 

conflict  with  Dr.  Higgins  in  any  way.  He  asked 
Dr.  Higgins  to  advise  him  where  best  to  locate  in 
order  to  build  up  a  practice.  Dr.  Higgins  took 
him  into  his  library,  and  after  a  long  talk  became 
quite  attracted  to  him  and  was  quite  surprised  at 
the  knowledge  the  young  man  had  already  stored 
away  in  his  mind.  He  expressed  wonder  at  the 
advance  science  had  made  of  late  years,  and  was 
an  interested  listener  to  details  about  the  X-rays, 
the  baking  process,  and  removals  of  entire  stom 
achs,  the  marvels  of  anti-toxine — all  these  discov 
eries  had  taken  place  since  his  college  days,  and 
although  he  had  read  about  them  somewhat  in 
medical  reports  it  had  never  been  his  fortune  to 
meet  with  a  doctor  before  who  had  had  experience 
with  their  use.  Dr.  Sherman  being  familiar  with 
many  of  these  cases  through  his  hospital  experi 
ence  was  happy  in  explaining  fully  to  the  good  old 
doctor  the  modern  processes,  who  was  quite  car 
ried  away  with  the  new  point  of  view.  And  when 
as  a  final  remark  Dr.  Sherman  told  him  that  be 
sides,  a  cure  for  consumption  would  soon  be  found, 
together  with  the  fact  that  a  cure  for  rheumatism 
had  been  discovered,  which  he  himself  was  inter- 


CALEB  ABBOTT  103 

ested  in,  the  old  doctor  jumped  up  straight  out  of 
his  chair.  He  immediately  sat  down  again,  how 
ever,  as  a  twinge  shot  through  his  limbs.  Grasp 
ing  the  hand  of  Dr.  Sherman  he  exclaimed : 

"My  boy,  if  you  can  cure  my  rheumatism  you 
shall  have  the  whole  of  my  practice  and  all  I  can 
get  you  besides." 

A  week  or  so  later  Dr.  Sherman  again  called 
upon  Dr.  Higgins  and  told  him  about  his  trials  at 
the  hotel  and  his  vain  search  to  find  a  suitable 
boarding  house. 

The  good  old  doctor  in  his  blunt  way  ex 
claimed  : 

"Good  enough !  so  you  can't  find  a  place  you 
like?  Well,  come  here:  that  is,  if  you  can  put  up 
with  two  old  fogies  like  Betsie  and  me.  Then  you 
will  be  right  at  home  and  when  some  one  comes 
banging  at  the  door  in  the  middle  of  the  night  for 
old  Doctor  Higgins,  why !  young  Doctor  Sherman 
can  go.  Perhaps,  in  the  morning,  just  for  old 
friendship's  sake,  I'll  drive  over  to  see  whether  it's 
a  boy  or  girl." 

The  new  doctor  was  soon  settled  with  a  brand 
newr  shingle  over  the  Doctor's  old  one,  for  Dr. 


104  CALEB  ABBOTT 

Higgins  had  insisted  that  the  new  sign  be  on  top. 

Two  days  before  Thanksgiving  day,  Caleb,  com 
ing  in  to  supper,  remarked  to  his  mother: 

"I  guess  the  girls  will  have  their  sleigh  ride  all 
right."  And  Marjorie,  who  had  been  busy  in  the 
front  room,  hearing  him,  came  running  out  to  the 
kitchen,  exclaiming: 

"Oh!  do  you  think  so,  Mr.  Abbott?  Let  me 
take  your  lantern;  I  want  to  see  for  myself."  Tak 
ing  the  lantern  from  Caleb's  hand  she  went  out 
into  the  cold  night.  The  temperature  seemed 
right  for  snow.  Not  a  star  was  visible.  You  could 
even  smell  the  snow  in  the  air.  And  Marjorie, 
looking  up  toward  the  heavens,  felt  on  her  fair  face 
the  soft,  feathery  flakes  already  beginning  to  fall. 
Returning  to  the  house,  with  joy  written  on  her 
face,  Marjorie  said  to  Caleb : 

"It  is  already  snowing.  Won't  it  be  beautiful! 
Do  you  think  it  will  turn  to  rain  ?"  her  face  falling, 
as  she  thought  of  such  a  misfortune  happening. 

"No,  I  think  we  are  in  for  a  genuine,  old  fash 
ioned  snow,"  Caleb  answered.  "The  indications 
are  that  way  surely,  even  the  wind  is  in  the  right 
quarter  for  it." 


CALEB  ABBOTT  105 

The  day  before  Thanksgiving  dawned  bright 
and  fair.  The  air  was  sharp  and  cold.  The  snow 
storm  of  the  day  before  had  continued  all  night. 
Upon  arising  Marjorie's  first  thought  was  of  the 
sleigh  ride.  Not  waiting  to  dress  she  hastened  to 
the  window  and  looked  out  with  joy  upon  as  fair 
a  scene  as  is  possible  to  behold  on  a  winter  day. 
The  sun  had  just  risen  and  the  view  as  far  as  eye 
could  see  was  one  of  dazzling  whiteness.  The 
trees  were  bent  far  down  toward  the  ground  with 
the  weight  of  snow  piled  upon  them.  Here  and 
there  she  recognized  a  cottage  almost  buried  in 
drifts;  again  some  fence  top  peeped  into  view. 
One  forlorn  blue  jay  perched  upon  the  top  of  a 
nearby  beech,  wondering  probably  where  his  next 
meal  was  to  come  from.  Even  as  Marjorie  stood 
there  she  could  hear  the  distant  jingle  of  sleigh 
bells,  for  already  the  farmer  was  up  and  out  upon 
his  early  duties.  Hastily  dressing  she  ran  down 
stairs.  Meeting  Caleb  just  returning  from  the 
barn,  with  a  face  wreathed  in  smiles  she  exclaimed : 

"Well,   Mr.  Abbott,  we  are  to  have  our  sleigh 
ride,  aren't  we?" 

"Oh,  yes !"  he  replied,  "and  I  am  very  glad  for 


106  CALEB  ABBOTT 

your  sake.  You  would  have  been  so  disappointed 
had  it  been  bare  ground,  or  a  disagreeable  night/' 

"Indeed  I  should!"  replied  Marjorie.  "And  I 
shall  count  the  hours  until  evening.  Will  you 
have  room  for  all  the  baskets?  You  know  they 
are  large  ones." 

"Oh,  yes,  there'll  be  plenty  of  room.  I  shall 
take  the  large  milk-pung  and  both  horses,  plenty 
of  straw,  and  the  fur  robes.  We  shall  keep  com 
fortable,  I  am'  sure." 

"Yes,  I  think  we  ought  to  with  all  those  com 
forts.  Then  we  each  have  our  furs,  too;  and  you 
your  great  fur  coat."  Turning  to  Mrs.  Abbott, 
"Can  I  help  you  any?" 

"No,  I  guess  I  sha'n't  need  your  help  today," 
answered  Mrs.  Abbott.  "My  cooking,  with  the 
exception  of  the  vegetables  and  turkey,  is  nearly 
all  done.  The  turkey  you  know  is  always  Grand 
ma's  task." 

"Caleb,"  Mrs.  Abbott  said,  "I  want  you  to  look 
into  the  pantry  and  see  what  we  have  been  doing 
the  past  two  days."  She  threw  open  the  pantry 
door  and  there,  spread  upon  the  shelves,  was  a 
sight  fit  for  a  king.  Great  snowy  loaves  of  bread, 


CALEB  ABBOTT  107 

apple  pies,  pumpkin  pies,  mince  pies,  such  as  only 
a  real  mother  can  make.  Dainties  of  all  kinds,  and 
the  great  gobbler,  ready  for  the  stuffing.  In  fact 
everything  in  the  eatable  line  which  goes  to  make 
Thanksgiving  day  the  hospitable  day  it  is. 

"Well,"  said  Caleb,  "it  looks  as  if  we  should 
have  enough  to  eat  for  a  few  days  at  least." 

"I  guess  so,"  answered  Mrs.  Abbott.  "But 
come  now,  breakfast  is  ready." 

Hilda  came  over  after  breakfast,  and  amid  much 
fun  and  laughter  she  and  Marjorie  and  Caleb 
packed  the  baskets  which  were  to  bring  joy  into  so 
many  households.  Each  was  a  new  bushel  basket, 
containing  all  that  was  necessary  for  a  Thanksgiv 
ing  dinner.  Several  loaves  of  bread,  a  turkey  of 
course,  cranberries,  vegetables,  sugar,  tea,  coffee, 
spices,  fruits  and  nuts  for  the  children.  Each 
basket  was  filled  to  overflowing. 

When  evening  came  the  moon  rose  in  all  its 
glory.  The  horses  were  hitched  to  the  big  milk 
pung,  the  baskets  packed  away  in  order.  Caleb 
with  his  great  fur  coat  buttoned  closely  stood 
ready  to  tuck  in  the  robes  around  the  girls.  The 
door  opened  and  Mrs.  Abbott  stood  behind  them 


108  CALEB  ABBOTT 

holding  a  light  above  their  heads.  What  a  vision 
of  loveliness !  Both  girls  were  warmly  clad  in  furs, 
Marjorie  in  a  sealskin  coat,  hat  and  gloves,  while 
Hilda  wore  simpler  yet  becoming  furs.  Now  they 
are  seated.  The  horses,  already  impatient  in  the 
cold  night  air,  are  off  almost  before  they  get  the 
word,  going  at  a  fine  gait,  the  bells  jingling  musi 
cally.  Three  comrades  happy  in  the  glow  of 
youth ! 

The  first  stop  was  at  the  Andersons'.  For  a 
wonder  Jim  himself  was  at  home,  and  sober,  too. 
There  had  been  a  rumor  around  the  village  lately 
that  Jim  was  doing  better  than  he  used  to.  They 
were  greatly  surprised  that  a  sleigh  should  stop  at 
their  door,  and  when  Caleb  called  Jim  out  to  help 
him  in  with  the  basket  their  joy  knew  no  bounds. 
Next  they  went  to  Jake  Merrow's.  Hilda  apolo 
gized  for  leaving  them  a  basket,  but  intimated  that 
knowing  of  Mr.  Merrow's  misfortune  she  thought 
perhaps  a  basket  would  be  acceptable. 

"It  certainly  is,"  answered  Mrs.  Merrow.  "We 
have  had  rather  a  hard  time  of  it  this  fall." 

Then  to  the  old  man,   Farmer  Waters',   they 


CALEB  ABBOTT  109 

drove,  whose  last  words  were,  "Guess  I'll  have 
enough  to  eat  all  winter,  by  the  looks !" 

On  again  to  Eben  Holt's,  and  the  McCarthys', 
both  of  whom  were  gladly  surprised  at  the  gifts, 
and  who  had  many  thanks  and  kind  words  for 
their  goodness.  They  stopped  at  the  French 
man's.  In  his  broken  English  he  said : 

"You  so  good, — I  thank  you  so  very  much,  we 
eat  him — we  think  of  you." 

The  next  and  last  place  to  be  visited  was  the 
Widow  Fleming's.  Her  house  was  located  two 
miles  from  the  nearest  neighbor,  a  long  drive  from 
the  village.  Caleb,  alighting,  knocked  at  the  door, 
which  was  opened  by  Dr.  Sherman.  Caleb  had 
met  the  doctor  before,  liking  him  at  once.  He  was 
surprised  to  see  him  here,  not  knowing  that  there 
was  sickness  in  the  family. 

"Is  the  Widow  Fleming  at  home?"  asked  Caleb. 

"Hush!"  replied  the  doctor,  "Mary  Fleming  is 
very  ill  and  has  just  gone  to  sleep.  I  hope,  if  she 
is  not  disturbed,  that  she  will  be  better  when  she 
awakes.  But  you  have  company,  Mr.  Abbott,"  he 
added,  as  he  noticed  the  two  young  ladies  in  the 
pung.  "Ask  them  to  come  in  and  warm  them- 


110  CALEB  ABBOTT 

selves.  You  can  hitch  the  horses  for  a  few 
minutes." 

"Won't  they  disturb  your  patient?"  asked 
Caleb.  "We  have  been  out  some  time;"  and  he 
added:  "Perhaps  they  had  better  come  in  before 
we  start  for  home." 

"Oh,  no !"  replied  the  doctor,  "if  they  come  in 
quietly  she  will  not  hear  them." 

So  Caleb  secured  and  blanketed  the  horses, 
while  Hilda  and  Marjorie  went  softly  into  the 
house.  Hilda  had  already  met  the  doctor,  so 
turning  to  Marjorie  she  said: 

"This  is  my  very  dear  friend  Miss  Upton, 
Doctor  Sherman." 

By  this  time  Caleb  had  returned,  bringing  the 
basket  in  with  him.  Mrs.  Fleming  herself  had  also 
joined  the  party  that  was  already  gathered  around 
the  kitchen  stove. 

"I  am  so  sorry  you  have  sickness  again  in  your 
family,  Mrs.  Fleming,"  said  Hilda.  "You  have 
rather  more  than  your  share  of  trouble." 

"Yes,  indade  I  do!"  answered  the  widow. 
"What  wid  the  loss  of  me  poor  Mike,  and  wid  Pat 
breaking  his  arm,  and  now  me  darlint  Mary  down 


CALEB  ABBOTT  111 

wid  the  fever,  it  seems  as  if  the  gude  Lord  hisself 
has  forgit  me.  Thin  wid  seven  mouths  to  feed  and 
little  work  a  comin'  in,  and  the  winter  a  comin' 
on,  sure  I  don't  know  what'll  becum  of  us.  Lord 
knows  I  hate  to  do  it,  but  I'm  thinkin'  the  town'll 
have  to  take  us  over  the  hill."  Noticing  the  basket 
she  continued,  "And  what  is  that,  Miss  Hilda?  Is 
it  work  you  have  brought?  God  bless  you,  I'll  try 
to  do  it.  But  wid  me  Mary  so  sick  you'll  have  to 
wait  a  day  or  two." 

"No,"  answered  Hilda,  "it  is  not  work,  but 
something  for  Thanksgiving.  You  know  tomor 
row  is  Thanksgiving  day." 

''God  bless  you,  no!  I  ain't  a  thinkin'  anything 
'bout  Thanksgiving,  one  day  is  jest  the  same  as 
another  wid  me.  But  I'll  put  the  things  away 
while  I  talk.  My !  look  at  the  turkey !  Ain't  he 
handsome!  It's  a  long  time  sinc't  I  had  me  old 
teeth  in  a  turkey.  An'  bread,  an'  apples,  an'  sugar 
an'  tay — real  tay.  Och  !  How  foine  it  smells!  and 
coffee,  too !  Oh,  Miss  Hilda,  I  could  jest  sit  down 
and  smell  of  'em  all  night,  and  holler,  if  me  Mary 
warn't  so  sick,  poor  gal !"  And  so  the  widow 
unpacked  every  article,  fondly  handling  some, 


112  CALEB  ABBOTT 

smelling  of  others,  with  now  and  then  a  snivel  and 
a  wipe  across  the  face  with  the  sleeve  of  her 
wrapper,  which  told  only  how  well  she  appreci 
ated  their  thoughtfulness. 

"But,"  said  Hilda,  "you  are  thanking  me  for  all 
these  things.  I  did  not  bring  all  myself.  It  was 
Miss  Upton's  idea  in  the  first  place,  and  Mr. 
Abbott  gave  the  turkey.  This  is  Miss  Upton,  Mrs. 
Fleming,"  turning  to  Marjorie. 

"Och,  God  bless  you  all !  We'll  have  plenty  to 
ate  and  when  me  Mary  wakes  up,  the  seeing  of  all 
them  good  things  will  make  her  well.  She  ain't 
very  strong,  Miss  Hilda,  an'  she  ain't  bin  overfed ; 
no  more  the  rist  of  us,  either." 

"You  spoke  of  work,  Mrs.  Fleming,"  said 
Marjorie  sweetly.  "I  can  give  you  work  if  you 
want  it,  and  I  will  drive  over  with  it  soon,  and  also 
to  see  how  your  daughter  is  getting  along." 

"Oh !  will  ye?  Thank  ye,  thank  ye,  you're  all  so 
good.  Perhaps  the  good  Lord  ain't  forgit  me 
yet,"  with  another  snivel. 

"Is  Mary  very  sick,  Doctor  Sherman?"  asked 
Marjorie. 

"She  has  been,  but  I  think  the  crisis  is  passed," 


CALEB  ABBOTT  113 

he  replied.  "But  she  is  very  weak.  However,  I 
think  with  sleep  and  nourishing  foods  she  will 
gradually  get  back  her  strength.  I  am  afraid  the 
Flemings,  as  Mrs.  Fleming  has  said,  have  not  had 
enough  nourishment  for  some  time  past." 

"You  must  let  me  know,  Doctor,"  said  Mar- 
jorie  with  one  of  her  sweetest  smiles,  "what  Mary 
needs.  I  will  see  that  she  has  it." 

"Certainly,"  answered  the  doctor,  "if  you 
wish." 

"We  must  be  going  now,  we  have  a  long  drive. 
It  is  getting  very  late,"  remarked  Hilda. 

"Where  is  your  team,  Doctor?"  asked  Caleb,  "I 
did  not  notice  it  as  I  came  in." 

"Oh,  I  bring  my  horses  right  in  with  me," 
laughingly  answered  the  doctor.  "These  are  my 
horses,"  slapping  his  limbs  with  his  hands. 

"What!  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  you 
walked  way  over  here  in  this  snow,  with  the  roads 
hardly  broken  out  yet  and  that  you  intend  to  walk 

back  again?" 

"That's  just  what  I  did,  and  I  shall  walk  back 
again.  You  see  I  have  no  horse  of  my  own  as  yet, 


114  CALEB  ABBOTT 

and  Doctor  Higgins  was  away  with  his ;  I  am  do 
ing  my  rounds  today  on  Shank's  mare." 

"If  you  can  leave  soon  we  shall  be  glad  to  wait 
for  you,  and  give  you  a  ride  home." 

"I  shall  be  only  too  glad  to  accept  your  kind 
offer,"  the  doctor  replied.  "As  there  is  nothing 
more  I  can  do  now  I  will  just  leave  some  direc 
tions  with  Mrs.  Fleming  and  join  you  in  the  yard. 
Going  into  the  next  room  where  Mrs.  Fleming  sat 
by  the  bedside  of  her  sick  child,  he  left  the  direc 
tions  and  joined  the  others  just  as  Caleb  had  un 
hitched  the  horses. 

Caleb  turned  to  the  young  ladies  with : 

"Come,  I  will  help  you  in,"  but  Hilda  had 
sprung  lightly  into  the  pung  and  was  already 
seated. 

Marjorie  exclaimed,  "Why,  Hilda!  you  are  not 
on  the  right  seat.  But  Hilda  with  a  laugh  replied : 

"I  did  make  a  mistake,  didn't  1?  But  I  shall 
have  to  make  the  best  of  it  now.  Caleb  must  tuck 
me  in,  and  you  will  have  to  entertain  Doctor 
Sherman." 

Marjorie  and  the  doctor  thus  had  the  rear  seat 


CALEB  ABBOTT  US 

and  judging  by  their  talk  and  laughter  they  enter 
tained  themselves  most  successfully. 

Caleb,  seated  close  beside  Hilda,  was  happy 
indeed.  He  wondered  after  he  reached  home 
whether  Hilda  really  did  make  a  mistake  in  get 
ting  on  the  front  seat,  or  whether—  But  of  course 
it  was  a  mistake,  she  never  would  have  done  it 
intentionally.  Still  perplexed  Caleb  fell  asleep, 
dreaming  of  Hilda  and  the  happy  days  at  school. 

The  doctor,  when  he  had  bidden  them  all  adieu, 
thought  he  had  never  passed  such  a  short  but 
happy  hour  as  that  drive  home  with  the  sweetest 
and  prettiest  girl  by  his  side  it  had  ever  been  his 
fortune  to  meet. 

He  determined  to  see  more  of  Marjorie.  He, 
too,  let  his  fancy  run  into  the  future.  Perhaps  he 
might  strive  to  win  her  if  it  was  possible  to  do  so. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

RUSHTON    GROWS. 

The  days  went  by  rapidly.  Christmas  had 
arrived  and  Mr.  Upton  came  on  from  New  York 
to  spend  the  holidays.  Marjorie  was  delighted 
and  had  many  a  long  story  to  tell  her  father  of  all 
that  had  taken  place  since  he  was  last  in  Rushton. 
To  be  seated  around  the  open  fire  these  long  win 
ter  evenings  was  delightful  to  all.  Mrs.  Abbott 
with  her  household  duties  over  for  the  day,  her 
bread  kneaded  and  set  to  rise  for  the  morrow; 
Caleb,  his  chores  done,  discarding  his  barn  clothes, 
and  exchanging  his  heavy,  ungainly  felt  and  rub 
bers  for  slippers ;  Mr.  Upton,  with  his  fragrant 
Havana;  Marjorie  as  fair  as  a  lily;  together  they 
made  up  a  varied  but  social  party.  The  doctor 
came  frequently,  dropping  in  after  his  office  hours 
in  the  evening.  He  was  here  tonight  and  Mr. 
Upton  who  had  met  him  for  the  first  time  was 


CALEB  ABBOTT  117 

favorably  impressed  with  his  gentlemanly  manners 
and  interesting  conversation.  Marjorie  and  Doc 
tor  Sherman  often  met ;  always  of  course  acci 
dentally,  still  very  frequently.  In  fact  it  seemed 
as  if  the  doctor  knew  just  where  she  was  to  be,  at 
certain  times.  He  had  called  so  often  at  the 
Widow  Fleming's,  knowing  that  Marjorie  drove 
there  almost  daily  with  some  little  delicacy  for 
Mary  or  work  for  the  widow,  that  Mrs.  Fleming 
had  one  more  worry  added  to  her  many  cares  and 
that  was  the  size  of  the  doctor's  bill.  She  had 
hinted  to  him  that  as  Mary  was  on  the  mend  she 
did  not  think  he  need  come  so  often.  With  good 
care  and  the  strengthening  food  she  was  now  get 
ting,  thanks  to  the  young  ladies,  she  thought  her 
daughter  would  soon  be  well.  But  the  doctor  did 
not  take  the  hint.  He  had  continued  calling,  until 
one  day  he  told  the  widow  himself  that  he  would 
not  be  needed  any  more,  and  so  would  leave  his 
bill.  The  poor  woman  who  had  been  dreading  this 
event  so  long,  took  the  paper  from  his  hands,  anx 
iously  glancing  at  the  bottom  of  the  paper,  before 
she  should  give  him  some  of  her  hard  earned 


118  CALEB  ABBOTT 

money  and  make  promises  for  other  future  pay 
ments. 

"But,  Doctor,"  she  tremblingly  said,  when  she 
could  finally  muster  courage  to  speak,  "you've 
rayceipted  the  bill,  I  can't  pay  ye  all  to  onct." 

"It  is  all  paid,  Mrs.  Fleming,"  replied  the 
doctor  with  a  laugh.  "Only  don't  say  anything 
about  it  to  any  one.  If  you  should  be  asked  about 
the  new  doctor  just  say  that  he  is  awfully  smart. 
You  see  I  am  new  and  need  some  advertising. 
As  your  daughter  was  one  of  my  first  patients  I 
thought  I  would  just  receipt  this  bill.  Then  again 
I  have  passed  many  pleasant  hours  in  your  home." 
Mrs.  Fleming  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  yet  not  quite 
comprehending,  thanked  him  again  and  again. 
Long  after  he  had  gone,  she  sat  wondering  how  he 
could  have  passed  many  pleasant  hours  in  her 
humble  home,  almost  devoid  of  furniture  and 
crowded  with  squalling,  ragged  children. 

Many  were  the  pleasant  and  happy  times  during 
this  winter.  The  moonlight  sleigh  rides,  skating 
parties,  evening  entertainments  and  best  of  all  the 
Sundays,  when  the  whole  family  went  to  church, 
Mrs.  Abbott,  Caleb,  and  Marjorie  and  her  father. 


CALEB  ABBOTT  119 

They  were  usually  joined  at  the  church  by  Hilda 
and  later  by  the  doctor,  if  possible.  The  church 
itself  was  one  of  those  ordinary  country  churches, 
built  rather  more  for  economy  than  beauty.  Small, 
box-shaped,  with  the  customary  steeple,  with 
sheds  at  the  rear,  filled  on  Sundays  with  all  kinds 
of  turnouts  and  horses.  Fat  horses,  lean  horses, 
old  horses  and  colts,  some  over-fed,  many  under 
fed,  some  sleek  and  handsome,  some  spavined  and 
bony.  In  the  summer  time  the  stylish  turnout  of 
the  Van  Coulters'  with  their  bang  tailed  horses 
and  negro  coachman,  stood  side  by  side  with  the 
patched  up  rig  and  rope-trimmed  harness  of  Steve 
Sheldon. 

The  parson  of  the  village  church  was  not  a  re 
markable  parson.  If  he  had  been  he  probably 
would  not  have  been  located  in  Rushton,  where 
squashes  and  cabbages,  wood  and  grain,  were  part 
of  his  salary.  But  he  was  good,  kind  hearted  and 
beloved  by  all.  He  had  several  modern  ideas 
which,  to  some  of  the  old-time  worshipers, 
seemed  almost  sacrilegious.  In  fact  a  quartet  of 
singers,  consisting  of  Caleb,  the  doctor,  Hilda  and 
Marjorie,  had  at  first  excited  much  criticism.  It 


120  CALEB  ABBOTT 

soon  became,  however,  an  important  attraction  at 
the  church.  Caleb  had  a  fine  deep  bass;  the  doc 
tor's  voice  was  tenor;  Hilda's  alto,  and  Marjorie's 
soprano.  There  were  many  towns  far  greater  in 
size  than  Rushton  that  would  have  been  glad  to 
boast  of  so  good  a  quartet  (and  I  might  also  add, 
so  handsome  a  one). 

The  advent  of  winter  is  dreaded  by  nearly  all. 
Yet  when  it  is  really  upon  one  in  the  country 
it  seems  to  lose  its  terrors.  We*  read,  with  shivers 
running  down  our  backs,  an  item  in  the  daily 
papers  which  runs  something  like  this :  "Jan. 
5th,  Rushton,  N.  H.,  reports  twenty  degrees  be 
low  zero."  That  probably  means  just  before  sun 
rise.  Yet,  when  the  sun  is  well  up  in  the  heavens 
we  do  not  mind  a  sleigh  ride  of  twenty  miles. 
There  is  a  certain  fascination  after  all  on  a  cold 
winter's  day,  to  find  one's  self  well  wrapped  and 
seated  in  a  sleigh  behind  good  horses,  gliding  over 
the  country  roads,  whilst  all  about  one  are  the 
signs  of  winter.  There  is  a  touch  of  color  too,  as 
some  red  painted  cottage  peeps  into  view  from  be 
yond  the  drifts  of  snow,  or  a  patch  of  pine  or  hem 
lock  flashes  into  view,  with  its  beautiful  greens 


CALEB  ABBOTT  121 

almost  hidden  by  the  weight  of  snow  piled  upon 
the  spreading  limbs  which  reach  out  from  the 
woodland  depths  like  some  giant  hands,  as  if  to 
see  how  much  weight  they  can  hold. 

Caleb  was  busy  every  day.  He  had  no  hours 
to  spare  except  in  the  evenings  when  he  found 
time  to  read  law,  often  studying  late  into  the 
night.  He  had  determined  to  master  the  pro 
fession  both  because  he  found  it  an  interesting 
study  and  also  because  he  hoped  to  fit  himself  for 
something  above  day  labor,  according  to  his 
father's  wish.  Caleb  had  little  time  to  think  of 
anything  except  work  and  study.  His  Sundays 
were  therefore  peculiarly  a  recreation  to  him,  both 
bodily  and  spiritually.  The  Abbotts  were  liberal 
in  their  views,  but  the  home  training  had  taught 
the  duty  of  attending  church,  even  had  Caleb  dis 
liked  the  services.  But  the  services  were  very 
agreeable  to  him  and  he  found  himself  often  look 
ing  forward  to  Sunday,  and  to  Hilda. 

The  winter  was  going  fast.  Soon  the  "regulars" 
would  shift  from  their  winter  quarters  around  the 
great  stove  in  the  general  store,  to  the  steps  and 
boxes  outside.  But  the  evening  as  usual  found 


122  CALEB  ABBOTT 

the  crowd  around  the  stove.  They  had  gossiped 
and  gossiped  until  almost  every  one  in  the  village 
had  been  raked  over  or  praised  as  the  case  might 
be.  There  were  few  to  be  praised,  alas!  as  al 
most  every  family  in  town  had  some  skeleton  in 
its  closet,  which  was  sure  to  be  discovered,  no 
matter  how  small,  by  these  mischief  makers.  The 
new  doctor  had  come  in  for  both  praise  and  abuse ; 
praise  for  his  skill  in  saving  the  life  of  the  Widow 
Fleming's  daughter  as  well  as  his  cure  for  Doctor 
Higgins's  rheumatism.  They  could  not  abuse  him 
definitely  for  if  there  were  a  skeleton  in  his  family 
closet  they  had  not  as  yet  discovered  it.  About  all 
they  could  find  to  criticise  were  his  good  clothes, 
fresh  linen  collar,  and  the  fact  that  he  shaved  every 
day. 

"Well,  I  can't  see  as  if  that's  anything  agin  him," 
retorted  the  Deacon.  "He  don't  have  to  plough 
or  shovel  manure.  If  he  did  he  might  wear  over 
alls  and  go  without  a  collar." 

"Yes,  and  they  do  say  he  treats  the  poor  pretty 
square,"  said  Seth.  "I  heard  how  he  didn't 
charge  the  widow  anything  for  tending  her 


CALEB  ABBOTT  123 

daughter.  Receipted  the  bill  right  before  her  and 
said,  That's  all  right.'  " 

"Humph,"  growled  another,  "that's  probably 
'cause  he  never  spected  to  git  it.  He  charged 
me  'nough  for  my  old  woman  when  she  was  down 
with  lung  fever." 

"Pulled  her  through,  didn't  he?"  Seth  answered. 
"And  a  pretty  tough  case,  too,  so  you  said  your 
self.  He  knew  you  were  working  every  day  so 
why  shouldn't  he  charge  you  what  is  right.  We 
ain't  all  poor  folks  round  here.  If  we  was  where 
would  he  get  his  living?" 

"That's  so,"  said  the  Deacon.  "But  if  things  go 
right  with  him,  looks  as  if  he  wouldn't  have  to 
work  long;  he's  pretty  sweet  on  the  banker's 
daughter  up  there  to  Abbotts'." 

"And  speaking  of  the  banker,"  said  Seth,  "they 
say  as  how  he's  got  the  railroad  interested  in  put 
ting  a  line  through  here.  Said  he'd  buy  so  much 
stock." 

"Well,  I  heard  something  'bout  that,  too,"  re 
plied  the  Deacon.  "And  someone  said  they  saw 
two  goggle-eyed  fellers  with  some  sticks  and  lines, 


124  CALEB  ABBOTT 

treepods,  I  think  they  called  'em,  the  other  day, 
poking  up  and  down  the  pastures." 

"Oh !  them's  surveyors.  And  if  they've  got 
round  you  can  bet  there's  some  truth  in  the  yarn," 
said  Eb  Holt. 

"Well,  I  hope  it'll  go  through,"  answered  Seth. 
"It'll  wake  up  the  old  town.  There  ain't  nothing 
to  see  and  if  twan't  for  Kettchum  kicking  out  a 
drunk  now  and  then,  and  the  old  mail  coach 
comin'  in,  there  wouldn't  be  nothing  to  see." 

"Ma  wants  some  sugar,"  shouted  one  of  the 
Fleming  boys,  who  had  just  come  in. 

"Shut  the  door!"  roared  old  Merrill,  the  store 
keeper. 

"Say,  Mr.  Merrill,"  the  boy  went  on,  after  shut 
ting  the  door,  "what  makes  your  sugar  so  wet? 
Ma  told  me  to  tell  you  that  it's  all  damp  lumps." 

"Oh,  Merrill  keeps  the  drinking  bucket  on  the 
counter  over  the  barrel  and  the  bucket  leaks,  of 
course !"  said  some  one  sarcastically. 

"Merrill  don't  know  it  leaks,  but  it's  a  handy 
place  to  keep  the  bucket,  and  it  makes  the  sugar 
weigh  heavy ;  see  ?"  added  another  wag 


CALEB  ABBOTT  125 

"Oh  you  shut  up!"  angrily  retorted  Mr.  Merrill. 
"What  do  you  know  'bout  grocery  trade,  any 
how?" 

"Oh,  well,  Merrill,  I'm  sorry  I  gave  you  away; 
but  I  do  know  this  'bout  your  grocery  biz;  and 
that  is,  some  things  weigh  heavy  and  some  weigh 
light."  Having  said  his  say  the  merry  fellow  "lit 
out"  before  a  turnip  hurled  at  his  head  by  Old 
Merrill  should  strike  him. 

"Speaking  of  weighing,"  said  Seth,  trying  to 
turn  the  subject  and  get  Merrill  good  natured 
again,  "how  much  do  you  weigh,  Ed?" 

"Oh,  I  ain't  sure,"  Ed  replied,  stepping  on  the 
scales.  "One  hundred  and  eighty  by  these;  I  did 
weigh  one  hundred  and  seventy  in  West  Village 
a  week  ago.  Guess  they  ain't  the  same  kind  of 
scales,"  with  a  wink  to  the  crowd. 

"Pretty  near  fat  enough  to  kill,"  said  Hen. 

"Yes,"  answered  Ed  with  a  grin.  "Guess  if  I 
keep  on  gaining  I'll  be  fat  enough  to  kill  by  hog 
time."  But  in  spite  of  these  sallies  a  dampness 
seemed  to  have  fallen  upon  the  "regulars" — almost 
as  damp  as  Merrill's  sugar.  Merrill  himself  was 
still  glum,  probably  because  one  of  the  secrets  of 


126  CALEB  ABBOTT 

the  grocery  trade  had  been  discovered.  First  one 
and  then  another  "store  guest"  arose  with  a  yawn, 
buttoned  his  great  coat  and  started  for  home, 
leaving  Merrill  alone  with  his  scales  and  water 

bucket. 

***** 

One  day  toward  the  latter  part  of  winter  Caleb 
was  brought  home  by  two  of  the  loggers  with  a 
bad  cut  on  the  head.  While  loading  his  sled  with 
logs,  and  being  as  he  supposed  out  of  reach  of  any 
falling  trees,  he  had  suddenly  felt  a  blow  on  the 
head,  and  sank  in  the  snow  beneath  it.  He  was 
not,  however,  seriously  hurt  as  it  was  one  of  the 
top  branches  which  had  hit  him  and  not  the  trunk 
of  the  tree  itself,  which  would  certainly  have  killed 
him.  The  wound,  while  only  a  scalp  wound,  bled 
freely,  and  it  was  owing  to  a  weakness  from  loss 
of  blood  which  necessitated  his  being  carried  home. 
One  of  the  men  had  hurried  ahead  to  inform  Mrs. 
Abbott  that  it  was  not  a  serious  injury.  But 
Marjorie  was  out  in  the  barn  feeding  her  pet 
pigeons.  She  consequently  knew  nothing  of  it 
until  she  saw  them  bringing  Caleb  into  the  yard. 
It  was  then,  when  she  saw  him  lying  there  on  the 


CALEB  ABBOTT  127 

sled  so  still  with  the  blood  all  over  his  face  and 
matted  in  his  hair,  that  she  realized  what  his  life 
meant  to  her.  It  was  only  by  a  supreme  effort 
that  she  kept  from  fainting.  Hurrying  into  the 
house,  where  they  had  lain  Caleb  on  the  great,  old- 
fashioned  lounge,  Marjorie  knelt  by  his  side,  and 
taking  his  hand  in  hers  piteously  said : 

"Oh,  Caleb,  are  you  much  hurt?  Have  they 
sent  for  the  doctor?  Is  there  anything  I  can  do? 
You  must  not  die !  I, — we  all  love  you  so — say 
that  you  are  not  much  hurt." 

Caleb,  smiling  weakly,  asked,  "Do  you  all  love 
me  so  much  that  you  would  feel  sorry  to  see  me 
die?" 

"Oh  Caleb,  don't  joke,  don't  speak  so,  of  course 
we  all  love  you." 

"Well,"  he  answered,  "if  you  all  love  me  so 
much  I  don't  think  I  will  die  this  time.  It  will 
take  more  than  the  twig  of  a  tree  to  knock  me  out ; 
but  I  do  feel  a  little  faint.  That's  all.  I  will  be 
all  right  tomorrow.  But  here  is  Doctor  Sherman. 
He  will  soon  tell  you  that  there  won't  be 
any  funeral  to  attend  this  time.  Won't  you, 
Sherman?" 


128  CALEB  ABBOTT 

"Oh,  yes!"  answered  the  doctor,  partly  to 
Caleb,  and  partly  to  Marjorie  who  had  arisen 
blushingly,  that  the  doctor  might  not  see  her 
kneeling  by  Caleb  and  holding  his  hand. 

"He  will  be  all  right  in  a  day  or  two.  He  won't 
even  need  careful  nursing,"  he  added  somewhat 
bitterly.  "But  it  is  a  nasty  hit,  and  much  more 
and  I  am  afraid  we  should  have  had  the  funeral !" 
Then,  turning  to  his  patient,  "You  have  lost  lots 
of  blood,  old  man,  too !  As  far  as  the  cut  goes, 
I  guess  a  stitch  or  two  will  fix  that :  and  with  your 
fine  thick  hair  your  beauty  won't  be  spoiled,  in 
fact  it  never  will  be  noticed,"  rattled  on  the 
doctor.  Skilfully  performing  the  operation  and 
giving  Caleb  a  little  advice  as  to  what  to  do  and 
what  not  to  do  for  a  day  or  two,  Dr.  Sherman 
hastily  took  his  departure  after  telling  Mrs. 
Abbott  to  make  her  son  keep  quiet  for  a  day  or  so. 
He  did  not  even  ask  for  Marjorie,  who  had  stolen 
up  to  her  room,  there  to  give  vent  to  her  pent  up 
emotions 

Marjorie  herself  had  suddenly  awakened  to  the 
fact  that  Caleb  was  all  the  world  to  her;  that  she 
loved  him  as  only  a  pure,  loving  woman  can  love. 


CALEB  ABBOTT  129 

Yet  she  did  not  feel  that  Caleb  loved  her.  He  had 
always  treated  her  like  a  sister  and  he  seemed  to 
treat  Hilda,  too,  in  the  same  way  that  he  did  her 
self.  Did  he  love  Hilda?  She  could  not  tell.  But 
this  she  did  feel;  that  Caleb  was  her  idol,  her  ideal 
of  a  man,  and  happy  indeed  would  be  the  woman 
who  could  claim  his  great  heart.  Poor  Marjorie! 
lying  there  upon  her  bed,  first  happy  with  the 
recognition  of  her  own  love,  then  sad  with  uncer 
tainty  as  to  her  right  of  loving  Caleb.  At  last  with 
an  effort  she  arose;  and,  removing  all  traces  of  her 
tears,  again  went  bravely  down  the  stairs,  vowing 
that  Caleb  should  never  know  of  the  anguish  of 
these  last  hours,  nor  how  deep  was  her  love  of  him. 
And  Doctor  Sherman,  who  had  seen  at  once, 
with  a  lover's  intuition,  who  held  Marjorie's  heart, 
wondered  if  Caleb  reciprocated  that  great  gift. 
He  had  thought  it  was  Hilda  whom  Caleb  pre 
ferred.  Was  he  playing  with  both  their  hearts? 
But  no!  He  knew  Caleb  too  well  to  think  that. 
Lucky  fellow,  he  thought,  with  the  two  dearest 
girls  in  Rushton  in  love  with  him !  "Which  did  he 
prefer?"  he  asked  himself  in  perplexity.  He 
determined  to  know  even  if  he  had  to  be  so  rude 


130  CALEB  ABBOTT 

as  to  ask  Caleb  himself.  Were  not  he  and  Caleb 
fast  friends?  Why  should  Caleb  take  offence?  It 
would  not  be  through  idle  curiosity  that  he  would 
ask  him.  He  only  thought  it  fair  to  Marjorie  to 
find  out  the  truth.  Perhaps  Caleb  was  ignorant 
of  Marjorie's  feelings.  Then,  if  Caleb  really  had 
no  intentions  toward  Marjorie — would  it  not  be 
best  to  open  Caleb's  eyes?  He  determined  to  do 
so  and  if  it  really  was  Marjorie  that  he  preferred, 
"Oh,  then !"  with  a  sigh,  "I  suppose  I  can  live 
down  my  sorrow.  Others  have  lived."  But  then, 
another  one  might  not  have  had  so  deep  love 
for  a  girl  such  as  Marjorie.  Should  he  give  her 
up  to  Caleb  without  a  struggle?  Should  he  try 
and  win  her  for  himself?  At  last  his  better  nature 
triumphed.  When  he  had  arrived  home  he  had 
decided  that  if  Caleb  really  loved  Marjorie,  he 
must  simply  give  up  his  practice  here;  perhaps 
apply  for  a  surgeon's  berth  on  a  man-of-war.  He 
had  often  thought  that  he  would  like  such  a  life. 
Now  he  knew  he  would.  Perhaps  he  could,  in 
his  travels  to  foreign  lands  and  among  new  faces, 
forget ! 


CALEB  ABBOTT  131 

It  was  an  assured  fact  that  the  railroad  was 
about  to  be  built  through  Rushton.  Any  one  who 
wished  for  work  could  now  obtain  it.  Kettchum's 
hotel  was  filled  with  boarders  and  Kettchum  was 
obliged  much  against  his  will,  to  buy  every  old 
cow  for  miles  around  to  be  slaughtered  by  Skinner, 
the  butcher,  to  supply  meat  for  the  working 
crowd.  It  was  the  intention  of  the  railroad  officials 
to  build  a  depot  in  Rushton  which  should  be  an 
ornament  to  the  place,  and  their  plans  called  for 
brick  and  granite.  They  wished  if  possible  to  find 
suitable  granite  near  at  hand ;  and  their  engineers 
had  been  looking  over  the  land  to  see  if  such  stone 
could  be  found. 

One  Sunday  afternoon  Caleb  started  out  for  his 
usual  Sunday  stroll.  Sunday  was  the  only  day  in 
which  Caleb  really  had  time  to  think.  He  had 
formed  the  habit  of  going  over  the  farm  to  see 
what  there  was  to  be  done  through  the  coming 
week,  and  again  he  walked  as  usual  across  field 
and  pasture  looking  over  walls,  fences,  glancing 
at  the  trees;  noticing  as  he  went  along  what 
needed  repairing.  Here  a  wall  needed  topping; 
the  apple  trees  had  sent  up  suckers  and  shoots  dur- 


132  CALEB  ABBOTT 

ing  the  past  year  that  must  be  pruned.  He 
thought  he  should  sow  down  the  clover  and  red 
top  the  piece  where  his  corn  had  been  planted  the 
previous  year,  and  turn  up  a  new  piece  this  spring 
for  corn  in  the  ten-acre  lot.  Yes,  his  blueberry 
pasture  ought  to  have  some  care.  Part  of  it  at 
least  should  be  burned  over.  So  he  wandered  on, 
picking  up  a  stone  here  and  there;  or  now  and 
then  a  twig  which  the  wintry  winds  had  dislodged. 
For  although  it  was  Sunday,  Caleb  never  could 
walk  over  a  stone  in  his  mowing  piece,  as  some 
farmers  can.  He  kept  on  his  way  until  he  had 
crossed  the  meadow  and  over  to  the  hill  where  his 
father  had  worked  so  hard  felling  timber  that  his 
son  might  finish  his  college  education.  Caleb's 
thoughts  went  back  to  the  time  a  year  ago  when 
his  noble  father  had  given  up  his  life  in  the  mad 
waters  of  the  Merrimack.  As  he  stood  looking 
over  the  now  barren  waste,  he  thought  of  the 
many  hours  of  hard  labor  his  father  had  expended 
for  him.  While  gazing  over  the  land  of  stump 
and  rock,  he  noticed  some  one  down  on  all  fours 
creeping  over  the  rocks,  now  picking  up  a  piece 


CALEB  ABBOTT  133 

of  stone,  then  again  breaking  off  a  piece  with  a 
hammer  which  he  carried  with  him. 

"What  can  he  be  doing?"  wondered  Caleb,  "and 
what  is  he  here  for?  Well,  I  suppose  there  is  just 
one  way  to  find  out ;  and  that  is  to  go  over  and  ask 
him."  Caleb  crossed  the  piece  of  sprout  land 
which  lay  between  the  meadow  and  the  hill  be 
yond,  and  started  to  ascend  the  hill  just  as  the 
stranger  had  finished  his  antics  and  had  himself 
started  down  the  hill. 

"Good  afternoon,  stranger,"  saluted  Caleb. 

"Good  afternoon,"  replied  the  stranger.  "Nice 
day,  isn't  it?" 

"Yes,  it  is,"  answered  Caleb.  "And  it  being 
such  a  fine  day  I  thought  I  would  take  a  stroll 
around." 

"Just  what  I  have  been  doing,  although  my 
stroll  combines  business  with  pleasure.  I  was 
looking  at  the  stone  over  there.  Quite  likely  look 
ing  granite.  I  am  the  engineer  for  the  new  rail 
road  line  which  is  going  through  here.  My  name 
is  Stevens,"  continued  the  stranger. 

"Glad  to  meet  you,  Mr.  Stevens,"  said  Caleb, 
holding  out  his  hand,  which  the  other  took.  "My 


134  CALEB  ABBOTT 

name  is  Abbott.  So  you  like  the  looks  of  that 
granite  over  there  ?" 

"Yes,  I  do,"  replied  Mr.  Stevens.  "It's  almost 
identical  with  Barre  granite  and  would  make  a  fine 
building  stone.  'Twould  be  good  for  monumental 
work,  too,  although  it  is  hardly  dark  enough  to 
take  the  proper  polish.  It  takes  Quincy  granite 
for  a  dark,  rich  polish,  you  know." 

"No,"  answered  Caleb,  "granite  is  something  I 
don't  know  much  about.  But  I  have  often 
thought  this  granite  could  be  made  to  bring  in 
something." 

"Bring  in  something?"  replied  Mr.  Stevens  with 
enthusiasm,  "why,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  there's  a 
fortune  there.  Of  course  it's  rusty  and  seamy  on 
top,  but  I  have  been  following  the  seams  and 
scraping  away  the  dirt.  Yes,  if  I  am  not  mistaken, 
there's  acres  of  solid  granite  over  there,  extending 
down — well,  to  China,  for  all  I  know.  Wonder 
who  owns  this  land,  anyhow?" 

"I  do,"  answered  Caleb. 

"You  do?"  exclaimed  Stevens  in  surprise. 
"Well,  I've  just  put  my  foot  in  it  as  usual,  and  let 
my  mouth  run  away  with  my  head.  That's  my 


CALEB  ABBOTT  135 

great  fault,  talking  and  telling  all  I  know,  just 
when  I  shouldn't.  Now  here  is  a  junk  of  worth 
less  land,  that  I  dare  say  I  could  have  bought  for 
five  dollars  an  acre  and  made  the  cost  and  more, 
too,  on  this  one  job  alone.  Now  I  suppose  you 
would  want,  well  perhaps  a  thousand  for  it?" 

"Yes,"  Caleb  replied  with  a  smile,  "I  think 
several  thousands.  I  have  thought  for  a  long 
while  that  there  was  something  in  this  stone,  but 
I  have  never  had  time  to  look  into  it.  Still,  had 
any  one  come  along  and  offered  me  a  fair  price 
for  this  land  I  should  not  have  sold  without  inves 
tigating  on  my  own  account.  Now  that  I  have 
had  an  expert's  opinion,  gratis,  it  will  take  a  very 
good  offer  to  buy  it.  However,"  seeing  a  disap 
pointed  expression  pass  across  Stevens'  face,  "I 
like  your  looks,  and  you  have  given  me  your  opin 
ion  of  the  land's  worth.  Perhaps  there  will  be 
something  in  it  for  you,  after  all.  I  do  not  know 
anything  about  granite  or  the  quarrying  of  it; 
neither  have  I  time  nor  funds  at  present  to  get  it 
on  the  market.  Perhaps  we  can  start  a  little 
quarry  and  I  can  let  you  in  somehow.  And  you 


136  CALEB  ABBOTT 

in  turn,  no  doubt,  in  your  business  could  dispose 
of  some  of  the  granite." 

"Indeed  I  could,"  replied  the  engineer,  "I  could 
place  an  order  now  for  several  hundred  tons.  I 
have  it,  in  fact,"  he  exclaimed,  his  face  lighting  up. 
"Why  not  form  a  stock  company?  You  hold  the 
controlling  interest,  issue  so  much  stock,  and  the 
money  for  the  stock  will  start  the  business.  I'll 
guarantee  to  dispose  of  the  granite  as  fast  as  it  can 
be  worked." 

"I  should  like  time  to  think  this  matter  over," 
answered  Caleb.  "As  this  is  Sunday,  I  prefer  to 
talk  about  it  some  other  day.  I  am  at  leisure  every 
evening.  Why  can't  you  run  over  soon,  and  we 
will  talk  it  up?  That's  where  I  live,  that  large, 
square,  white  house  right  across  the  meadow,  on 
the  opposite  hill." 

"Well,  I  will  drop  in;  and  if  you  don't  mind  I'll 
make  it  tomorrow  night.  The  sooner  the  better, 
you  know,"  replied  the  engineer  with  a  laugh. 

True  to  his  agreement,  Stevens  called  to  see 
Caleb  the  next  evening.  As  he  walked  across  the 
meadow  he  overtook  Marjorie  with  her  arms  full 
of  pussy  willows.  She,  too,  was  on  her  way  to  the 


CALEB  ABBOTT  137 

house.  Coming  upon  her  suddenly  as  Mr.  Stevens 
turned  the  corner  by  a  clump  of  alders  he  stood 
still  for  a  moment  in  silent  admiration.  "By  Jove! 
how  beautiful !"  he  muttered  to  himself.  "I  won 
der  who  she  can  be!"  But  he  had  not  long  to 
wait,  as  he  was  now  almost  at  the  house;  and, 
Marjorie  turning,  said  to  him : 

"Do  you  wish  to  see  Mr.  Abbott?  If  you  do 
I  think  you  will  find  him  in  the  barn." 

"Thank  you,  yes,"  replied  Stevens  as  he  gal 
lantly  raised  his  hat.  "I  do  want  to  see  him." 

He  found  Caleb  in  the  barn  milking.  They 
greeted  each  other  pleasantly  and  Stevens  re 
marked  : 

"Say,  Mr.  Abbott,  if  we  put  that  deal  through 
O.  K.  you  won't  have  to  milk  cows  much  longer. 
You'll  be  able  to  hire  a  man,  and  sit  around  figur 
ing  up  your  profits." 

"Think  so?"  replied  Caleb.  "I  am  not  quite  as 
sanguine  as  you  about  big  profits;  and,"  laugh 
ingly,  "I  think  I  will  keep  the  cows  for  a  sure  thing 
until  I  see  the  money  coming  in." 

"That's  right,  too,  but  if  you  don't  think  me 
rude  will  you  tell  me  where  you  get  such  words  as 


138  CALEB  ABBOTT 

'sanguine/  way  back  here  in  this  back  woods 
town?  The  majority  of  farmers  don't  use  such 
words  as  that ;  it  flavors  somewhat  of  college,  don't 
you  know." 

"Well,  and  why  not?"  answered  Caleb.  "I  did 
go  to  college,  still  I  don't  know  that  I  have  more 
than  the  average  intelligence.  My  father  was  con 
sidered  a  bright  man  although  he  never  got  rich, 
and  my  mother  had  a  good  education.  But  in 
return,  if  you  won't  get  offended,  Mr.  Stevens,  let 
me  give  you  a  little  advice." 

"Fire  away!    I  won't  take  any  offence." 

"Well,  in  the  first  place,  just  because  you  hap 
pen  to  be  in  a  'wayback  place,'  don't  take  every 
one  you  meet  for  a  Rube.  There  are  some  pretty 
bright  people  in  these  small  towns  hereabouts  and 
Rushton  boasts  of  quite  a  number.  There's  many 
a  man  in  this  little  town  going  about  his  farm  with 
his  pants  tucked  into  his  boots,  wearing  an  old 
blue  flannel  shirt  with  sleeves  rolled  up,  who  can 
write  his  check  for  thousands.  I  am  through  now. 
If  you  say  so,  we  will  adjourn  to  the  house,  and 
have  a  talk." 

"Thanks   for  your  advice,    Mr.   Abbott.      Say, 


CALEB  ABBOTT  139 

what  is  your  first  name?  I  don't  like  being  so 
formal.  I  like  you ;  and  you  won't  find  me  such  a 
bad  lot  after  you  know  me.  By  the  way,  I  have 
got  a  letter  from  the  Mayor  of  our  city,  and  also 
notes  of  introduction  from  one  or  two  other  influ 
ential  citizens.  If  we  go  into  this  deal  together  I 
want  you  to  write  to  them  inquiring  about  me,  as 
I  am  an  entire  stranger  to  you,  you  know.  But  I 
started  to  say  my  name  is  John  Stevens,  though  I 
am  usually  called  Jack." 

"My  name  is  Caleb;  very  few  call  me  'Mr. 
Abbott,'  "  Caleb  replied.  "Come  right  in;  this  is 
my  mother,  Mr.  Stevens.  She  will  entertain  you 
a  moment  while  I  wash  up  a  little.  Then  I  will 
join  you." 

They  were  soon  seated  in  the  great  front  room. 
Caleb,  taking  up  a  box  of  cigars,  said : 

"Do  you  smoke?" 

"Oh!  certainly,"  taking  a  cigar.  "What!  genu 
ine  Henry  Clays?"  in  surprise.  "Your  words  are 
coming  back  to  me  very  soon.  I  hardly  looked 
for  my  favorite  brand  of  Cubas  in  a  farm  house." 

"You  see,"  replied  Caleb,  "I  have  a  New  York 
friend  who  keeps  me  supplied  in  cigars." 


140  CALEB  ABBOTT 

After  a  few  more  pleasantries  the  two  men  got 
down  to  business,  talking  far  into  the  night. 
Their  conversation  resulted  in  the  formation  of  a 
stock  company  to  be  known  as  the  "Rushton 
Granite  Company,"  disposing  of  the  stock  in 
Rushton  if  they  could  get  subscribers  enough. 
Caleb  was  to  own  half;  the  balance  to  be  sold  at  so 
much  a  share.  Caleb  was  to  be  the  treasurer;  the 
next  heaviest  holder  of  stock,  the  president,  and 
Stevens  resident  manager.  As  soon  as  the  stock 
was  disposed  of  they  were  to  choose  a  board  of 
directors  and  start  business  at  once.  Caleb  in  the 
meantime  was  to  see  Dr.  Higgins  and  Dr.  Sher 
man  and  the  Deacon.  He  also  intended  writing 
Mr.  Upton,  who  had  decided  to  locate  in  Rushton 
and  in  fact  was  now  closing  out  some  of  his  busi 
ness  interests  in  New  York. 

Mrs.  Abbott,  who  had  been  sitting  up  in  the 
dining  room,  came  in  to  bid  Caleb  good  night. 

"Oh,  my!  Caleb,"  she  exclaimed,  "what  a 
smoke !  You  can't  see  across  the  room.  I  don't 
often  find  fault,  but,  my  dear  boy,  you  will  ruin 
my  curtains." 

"Mother,"  he  replied,  playfully  putting  his  arm 


CALEB  ABBOTT  141 

around  her  and  drawing  her  to  him,  "if  what  we 
are  thinking  of  is  a  success,  we  shall  have  new  cur 
tains;  real  Irish  point,  too." 

"Well,  I  hope  for  your  sake,  whatever  it  is  it  will 
be  a  success,  but  you  have  not  told  me  yet  what  it 
is.  And  as  for  real  Irish  point  lace,  you  can  get 
them  for  the  future  Mrs.  Abbott.  I  guess  those 
old  ones  will  last  as  long  as  I  do." 

"Now,  mother,  I  don't  want  to  hear  you  talk 
about  not  'lasting.'  If  you  wish  to  see  the  future 
Mrs.  Abbott  I  am  sure  you  will  be  here  a  long  time 
yet.  But  stop  joking.  Let  me  tell  you  all  about 
the  new  scheme." 

Caleb  recited  briefly  all  that  had  been  planned 
and  Mrs.  Abbott  replied : 

"I  certainly  hope  it  will  be  a  success.  What 
would  your  father  say  could  he  know  about  the 
wealth  supposed  to  be  in  that  barren  land !" 

"But,  mother,"  softly  replied  Caleb,  "we  know 
that  father  does  know.  Else  we  are  not  true 
Christians.  Good  night." 

"Good  night,  my  boy;  God  bless  and  keep  you," 
she  said  huskily  as  she  kissed  him  good  night. 


142  CALEB  ABBOTT 

It  was  "good  doings"  again,  as  they  say  in  the 
country.  The  frost  was  out  of  the  ground;  the 
roads  were  smooth  and  hard.  Once  again  the  blue 
birds  appeared,  and  the  robins  sang  sweetly  a 
morning  carol  in  the  maple  by  Marjorie's  window. 
Marjorie  and  Hilda  again  went  riding  through  the 
lanes  and  over  the  highways.  But  Marjorie  did 
not  seem  as  happy  as  a  year  ago.  She  would  ride 
by  Hilda's  side  sometimes,  mile  after  mile,  without 
speaking,  with  a  sad  look  on  her  lovely  face. 
Hilda  had  noticed  her  silently  for  some  time  past ; 
she  felt  that  she  ought  to  know  the  trouble,  for 
trouble  it  evidently  was;  and  Hilda,  who  had  never 
had  a  sister,  had  grown  to  love  Marjorie  with  a 
sister's  love. 

One  bright  day  in  May,  one  of  those  rare  May 
days,  when  the  air  is  soft  and  balmy  and  the  birds 
singing  from  every  bush,  when  even  the  brook 
itself  seems  glad  as  it  ripples  over  the  pebbles,  and 
all  nature  seems  happy,  Marjorie,  after  a  long 
silence,  gave  vent  to  a  sigh,  so  deep,  so  sorrowful 
that  Hilda  exclaimed,  anxiously: 

"Dear  Marjorie,  what  is  it  that  troubles  you? 
Let  us  dismount  here  and  sit  on  this  grassy  knoll, 


CALEB  ABBOTT  143 

while  you  tell  me  what  it  is.  I  have  noticed  for  a 
long  time  that  something  is  on  your  mind.  I  can 
not  bear  to  see  you  sad,  dear  Marjorie.  Sit  here 
beside  me.  I  love  you  so;  perhaps  I  can  help 
you."  Marjorie's  fair  head  dropped  gently  in 
Hilda's  lap  while  the  tears,  so  long  kept  back, 
flowed  as  freely  as  if  they  were  jealous  of  the  rip 
pling  brook.  She  told  Hilda  her  story ;  the  story 
of  her  love  for  Caleb.  While  Hilda,  stroking  her 
fair  hair  (with  a  startled  look  in  her  own  eyes,  that 
luckily  could  not  be  seen),  tried  to  comfort  and 
console  Marjorie.  "Thank  God !"  said  Hilda  to 
herself,  "that  she  has  not  discovered  my  secret.  It 
would  be  even  harder  for  her  to  know  that  I  loved 
him  too!" 

So  they  sat  and  talked,  until  Marjorie,  with  a 
laugh,  arose,  saying: 

"There!  you  know  my  secret  now.  I  have  had 
a  good  cry  and  I  feel  better  already.  I  am  going 
to  try  and  forget,"  she  added,  "and  be  a  livelier 
companion  for  you,  Hilda  dear.  Look!  what  a 
stretch  for  a  gallop!  Let  us  see  who  can  get  to 
the  cross-roads  first." 

Before  summer  had  arrived  the  stock  company 


144  CALEB  ABBOTT 

was  an  assured  success.  The  stock  had  been  sub 
scribed  for;  sheds  had  been  built;  derricks  erected; 
stonecutters  and  quarrymen  hired;  and  the  works 
had  a  busy  aspect.  Jack  Stevens  had  proved  him 
self  a  hustler,  and  the  company  had  all  the  work 
they  could  do  with  their  limited  facilities.  Mr. 
Upton  had  run  on  for  a  few  days  and  was  very 
enthusiastic  over  the  outlook  for  the  new  com 
pany. 

"Sell  all  the  stock  you  can,  Caleb,"  he  said,  "and 
I  will  take  the  balance."  So  at  the  first  meeting  of 
the  directors,  it  was  found  that  Caleb  and  Mr. 
Upton  were  the  heaviest  owners  of  the  stock,  and 
Mr.  Upton  was  elected  president  of  the  new  com 
pany. 

"Just  to  keep  me  from  getting  rusty  when  I 
locate  here,"  he  laughingly  said  to  Caleb.  "I  have 
got  to  have  some  figures  to  go  over  once  in  a 
while  and  that's  a  good  beginning,  'Samuel  Up 
ton,  President  of  the  Rushton  Granite  Company.' 
I  feel  more  proud  of  that  title  already,  than  I  did 
of  the  title,  President  of  the  -  -  Street  National 
Bank  of  New  York.  And  by  the  way,  Caleb,  I  saw 
an  auction  bill  of  a  place  for  sale,  the  Silas  Holt 


CALEB  ABBOTT  145 

place,   so-called.      Do  you  know  anything  about 
it?" 

"Oh,  yes !"  replied  Caleb.  'That  is  one  of  the 
finest  places  in  town,  or  rather  it  used  to  be.  Since 
Silas,  the  elder,  died  his  son  has  let  the  farm  run 
out.  But  the  buildings  are  in  good  shape,  and 
there  is  a  fine  lot  of  timber  growth  on  it.  There's 
a  grand  view,  also.  You  see  young  Silas  had  quite 
a  little  money  left  him.  When  his  father  was  alive 
he  found  it  hard  to  get  hold  of  a  dollar.  That's 
why,  probably,  when  he  found  himself  compara 
tively  rich,  he  could  not  stand  prosperity,  and  got 
to  be  a  high  roller,  until  he  had  spent  all  his 
money.  He  mortgaged  the  place  for  all  he  could 
to  Cyrus  Whitney,  and  there  is  a  clause  in  the 
mortgage  deed,  so  I  have  heard,  that  denies  him 
the  right  to  sell  the  timber.  He  can't  raise  any 
more  money,  and  the  interest  being  due,  Cyrus  has 
foreclosed ;  I  am  sorry,  too,  because  Silas  is  a  kind- 
hearted  fellow  and  has  done  some  good  with  his 
money  besides  throwing  it  away.  They  say  he 
sees  the  folly  of  his  ways  now  it  is  too  late.  But 
the  place  has  got  to  go." 

"I   should   like  to  see  the   place,"   replied   Mr. 


146  CALEB  ABBOTT 

Upton.     "Will  you  drive  me  over  tomorrow?" 

"Certainly,"  replied  Caleb. 

The  next  day  Caleb  and  Mr.  Upton  drove  over 
to  the  Holt  estate. 

"Grand!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Upton.  "What  a 
glorious  view!  Is  that  the  timber  you  speak  of?" 
pointing  to  the  north  side  of  the  hill. 

"Yes,"  Caleb  answered,  "that's  one  lot;  I  believe 
there  are  three  lots  all  together." 

"Caleb,"  said  Mr.  Upton,  "I  want  that  place  if 
I  can  get  it.  What  do  you  think  it  will  sell  for  at 
auction?" 

"That's  rather  a  hard  question  to  answer.  Tak 
ing  a  country  valuation  of  it  I  should  say  it  was 
worth  twenty-five  hundred.  It  may  bring  a  little 
more;  perhaps  less.  It  depends  on  whether  any 
one  wants  it  or  not.  There's  close  to  two  thou 
sand  in  timber  alone.  I  suppose  there  will  be  some 
lumber  men  at  the  sale,  who  will  carry  the  price 
up  to  that  figure  or  more,  simply  on  account  of 
the  timber." 

"I  want  that  place,"  replied  Mr.  Upton.  "If 
four  thousand  will  buy  it,  I  want  you  to  buy  it  for 
me.  Of  course  I  know  that  such  a  sum  is  more 


CALEB  ABBOTT  147 

than  the  place  is  worth,  but  that  view  is  worth  one 
thousand  to  me,  and  the  aroma  from  those  pines 
is  worth  another  thousand  on  account  of  my 
daughter.  Now  if  you  will  attend  this  sale  and 
bid  it  in  for  me,  for  anything  up  to  this  figure,  or 
even  a  hundred  or  two  more,  I  will  give  you  a  real 
estate  agent's  commission  for  the  favor." 

"Oh !  I  will  do  you  the  favor  gladly  for  noth 
ing/'  Caleb  answered,  "and  I  could  not  think  of 
accepting  any  such  commission  as  that." 

"But  I  insist,"  said  Mr.  Upton. 

"If  you  insist  on  paying  me,  you  can  pay  me  for 
the  time  I  lose  attending  the  sale;  perhaps  half  a 
day's  time." 

"I  shall  do  nothing  of  the  kind,"  Mr.  Upton 
replied.  "I  want  you  to  buy  it  for  me,  and  I  want 
to  pay  you  what  I  should  pay  any  one  else  to  buy 
it  for  me.  Now  will  you  do  it?  Or  shall  I  get 
some  stranger  to  do  it  for  me,  who  perhaps  will 
stand  in  with  the  auctioneer  and  split  afterward?" 

"Well,"  said  Caleb,  "if  you  put  it  in  that  light, 
I  will  buy  it  for  you  and  we  will  settle  the  price 
afterwards." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

A    COUNTRY    AUCTION. 

A  few  days  after  this  conversation  the  auction 
took  place.  Caleb  was  on  hand  bright  and  early, 
accompanied  by  Hilda  and  Marjorie,  both  of 
whom  were  in  ignorance  of  his  intention  to  buy 
the  place  for  Mr.  Upton.  Each  wished  to  attend 
the  sale,  Marjorie  having  heard  of  the  fun  to  be 
had  at  one  of  these  country  auctions,  and  Hilda 
because  she  had  never  before  attended  a  country 
"vendoo."  Although  Caleb  knew  that  the  real 
estate  would  be  almost  the  last  to  be  sold,  he 
thought  he  would  make  a  day  of  it  in  order  that 
the  young  ladies  should  enjoy  the  whole  event. 

Silas  Holt  was  to  sell  all  the  personal  effects  and 
stock.  "May  as  well  clean  up  everything,  as  long 
as  I  have  got  to  lose  the  old  homestead,  and  start 
over  again,"  he  sadly  yet  bravely  told  Caleb.  "It 
seems  a  shame  to  sell  such  a  place  at  auction, 


CALEB  ABBOTT  149 

though.  It  is  certainly  worth  twenty-five  hundred, 
and  I  don't  suppose  it  will  bring  near  that  figure. 
Cyrus  Whitney  wants  it,  and  nobody  dares  to  bid 
against  him,  you  know." 

"Yes,"  I  know  many  people  stand  in  fear  of 
him,"  Caleb  answered.  "But  keep  up  your  spirits, 
Silas,  you  are  young  yet." 

"They  are  about  to  begin  the  sale.  Come  Miss 
Upton  and  Hilda;  here  is  a  good  place  to  stand," 
said  Caleb,  turning  to  the  young  ladies  who  were 
waiting  in  eager  expectancy  for  the  sale  to  open. 

To  any  one  who  has  never  attended  a  country 
auction  I  should  advise  him  to  do  so  at  the  first 
opportunity.  There  are  all  kinds  of  people  there 
from  the  country  urchin  to  the  be-whiskered  auc 
tioneer  himself,  with  his  hooked  nose  and  eagle 
eye.  The  celebrity  of  all  the  country  towns;  and 
the  sharpest  man  usually  to  be  found.  Also  the 
wealthy  summer  resident  who  may  pick  up  some 
ancient  bit  of  furniture,  a  spinning  wheel  or  per 
haps  a  piece  of  genuine  blue  ware.  The  lunch  at 
noon  under  the  trees  gives  a  zest  to  the  day;  for 
none  of  those  all  day  auctions  are  complete  with- 


150  CALEB  ABBOTT 

out  the  crackers  and  cheese,  doughnuts,  coffee  and 
cider. 

The  auctioneer  had  now  mounted  his  box  and 
begun  his  harangue.  "Come,  ladies  and  gentle 
men,  crowd  around  here  where  I  can  see  you. 
We've  got  lots  to  sell  today  and  we've  got  to 
hustle.  Everything  here  is  to  be  sold  and  your 
price  is  our  price."  Here  a  wag  inquired  of  the 
auctioneer : 

"Are  you  goin'  to  be  sold,  Josh?" 

"No,  but  you  are,  before  the  sale  is  over," 
quickly  replied  the  man  of  the  hooked  nose  and 
eagle  eye.  After  the  laugh  was  over  he  continued : 
"We  will  begin  on  the  household  articles  first,  then 
farm  implements  and  tools,  then  the  stock;  and 
lastly  the  real  estate.  Terms  are  ten  dollars  or 
under  for  cash ;  over  ten  dollars,  sixty  days'  note, 
if  bankable,  except  on  the  real  estate,  terms  of 
which  will  be  given  later.  Now  here  we  go !  The 
first  article  is  this  beautiful  rug."  Holding  up 
about  a  square  yard  of  old  carpet.  "Here's  the 
outside.  Here's  the  inside.  How  much  for  both 
sides?  Ten  cents  I  hear,  ten — ten — ten — fifteen, 


CALEB  ABBOTT  151 

do  I  hear  it  ? — fifteen,  do  you  say  it  ?  Are  you  all 
done  at  ten  ?  Sold  then  to  Mrs.  Brennan. 

"Now  here's  another,  a  better  one,"  holding  up 
another  piece  worse  if  anything  than  the  piece  just 
sold.  "Five  cents  some  one  says — five  cents — six 
— seven — eight — eight  I  have,  do  you  say  ten? 
Are  you  all  done  at  eight?  Well,  I  can't  wait  all 
day.  Sold  to  Mrs.  Brennan. 

"Now  here's  a  bed,  real  live  goose  feathers.  See 
'em  fly?"  (tossing  it  up).  "If  I  didn't  have  a  hold 
of  it  'twould  fly  out  of  sight.  How  much?  Come, 
give  us  a  bid.  It's  worth  ten  dollars  of  anybody's 
money.  One  dollar?  Well  now,  ain't  that  too 
bad?  Should  think  they'd  want  to  fly  out  of  this 
company.  One  dollar, — one  dollar, — one  dollar, 
—two  do  you  say  it  ?  Two,  do  I  hear  it  ?  Come, 
Arnold,  don't  sleep  on  the  floor  any  longer,  when 
a  bed  like  this  is  going  for  a  dollar.  Ah?  one  fifty 
—now  two — two — now  three?  Well,  say  two  fifty 
then, — two — two — two —  Who  says  a  quarter? 
Split  it  up  !  Two  twenty-five ;  now  two  fifty — two 
fifty,  now  three ;  three,  I  have ;  are  you  all  done  at 
three?  Once — twice — third  and  last  call—  Sold 
to  Jake  Fernald." 


152  CALEB  ABBOTT 

And  so  on  for  the  entire  forenoon.  Just  at 
twelve,  lunch  was  passed  around.  Marjorie,  Hilda 
and  Caleb  thoroughly  enjoyed  it  too. 

"Isn't  it  fun!"  laughed  Marjorie.  "Did  you  see 
that  old  man  that  gave  twenty-five  cents  for  a 
mouse  trap?  You  can  buy  one  anywhere  for  ten 
cents.  Yet  how  pleased  he  seemed." 

"And  did  you  notice  the  lady  that  got  a  com 
plete  chamber  set  for  four  dollars?  She  really  did 
get  a  bargain,"  said  Hilda. 

"Yes,"  said  Caleb,  "they  get  strange  prices  at 
auction.  Some  articles  bring  many  times  what 
they  are  worth,  and  others  bring  nowhere  near 
their  value." 

"What  a  funny  man  the  auctioneer  is,"  said  Mar 
jorie.  "I  never  heard  so  much  wit  in  such  a  short 
time.  He  outdoes  Mark  Twain.  I  honestly 
believe  he  could  make  a  fortune  if  he  should  jot 
his  sayings  down." 

"Oh  he's  funny  and  he's  bright,  too,"  said  Caleb. 
"He  gets  good  prices  and  is  in  great  demand  all 
through  the  country.  They  are  going  to  sell  the 
stock  now,  and  then  the  real  estate.  If  you  young 


CALEB  ABBOTT  153 

ladies  are  not  interested  in  stock  let  us  sit  here  in 
the  shade  and  talk." 

"Yes,  certainly,"  answered  both  in  chorus.  So 
they  sat  and  talked  and  laughed  until  finally  the 
auctioneer,  followed  by  the  crowd,  came  again 
under  the  trees.  After  drinking  a  couple  of 
glasses  of  cider  and  wiping  the  perspiration  from 
his  brow  with  a  big  red  bandana,  he  began  to  recite 
the  story  of  the  real  estate. 

"Now,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  here  is  one  of  the 
finest  estates  in  the  state  of  New  Hampshire.  To 
the  residents  hereabouts,  there  is  nothing  to  say. 
You  all  know  this  property.  But  for  the  benefit 
of  any  stranger,  should  there  be  any  here  who 
desire  to  bid,  I  will  state  that  there  are  two  hun 
dred  acres,  more  or  less;  about  one  hundred  tillage 
and  pasture,  the  balance  wood  and  timber.  It  is 
estimated  that  there  is  nearly  a  million  feet  of 
timber  alone.  The  buildings,  as  you  can  see,  are 
in  good  repair,  well  built,  high  and  sightly.  The 
terms  are  one  hundred  down  at  time  of  sale;  bal 
ance,  cash  within  thirty  days,  excepting  for  the 
mortgage  of  fifteen  hundred,  which  can  remain  if 


154  CALEB  ABBOTT 

desired.  Property  is  subject  to  unpaid  taxes  if 
any.  I  am  now  open  for  bids." 

For  several  moments  not  a  sound  was  heard. 
There  is  something  depressing  about  a  mort 
gagee's  sale  of  an  old  homestead.  There  is  almost 
always  a  hush  for  a  while  before  a  bid  is  heard. 
Cyrus  Whitney  stood  on  the  veranda  at  a  distance 
from  Caleb.  In  fact  he  could  not  see  him.  He 
had  no  idea  that  any  one  would  bid  against  himself 
beyond  the  price  of  the  timber  alone;  knowing 
that  the  timber  was  worth  at  least  two  thousand 
dollars  he  felt  perfectly  safe  in  starting  the  bid. 

"Eighteen  hundred,"  he  finally  squeaked  from 
his  perch  on  the  piazza.. 

"Two  thousand,"  came  from  under  the  trees.  A 
two  hundred  bid  is  quite  a  jump.  Caleb  had 
spoken,  and  both  Hilda  and  Marjorie  turned  to 
him  in  amazement.  He,  bidding  on  this  property, 
thought  Hilda,  and  against  her  father,  too?  How 
did  he  dare?  What  will  he  do  with  it? 

"How  can  he  pay  for  it?"  thought  Marjorie, 
who  knew  something  about  Caleb's  finances. 

The  bid  hung  at  two  thousand  for  some  time. 
The  auctioneer  had  again  to  go  over  the  value  of 


CALEB  ABBOTT  155 

the  place.  After  dwelling  for  some  time  on  two 
thousand  and  threatening  to  throw  up  the  stick, 
the  squeaking  voice  of  Cyrus  Whitney  once  more 
raised  the  offer  twenty-one  hundred. 

"Twenty-three  hundred,"  from  under  the  trees. 
Everybody  was  looking  now  to  see  who  the  bidder 
might  be,  yet  only  a  few  could  locate  who  he  was. 
Cyrus  Whitney  himself  was  determined  to  own 
this  property  up  to  its  real  value,  but  he  had  hoped 
to  get  it  much  less.  He  was  thoroughly  angry, 
and  knowing  something  of  the  auctioneer  and  his 
sharp  methods  of  doing  business,  cried  out  shrilly : 

"Say,  are  you  carrying  those  bids  along  against 
me?"  But  the  auctioneer  paid  no  attention  to 
him,  only  repeating  again  and  again : 

"Twenty-three  hundred,  twenty-three  hundred ; 
four,  do  you  say  it?  Once,  twice,  third  and  last 
call."  But  no:  Cyrus  wouldn't  give  up  yet. 

"Twenty-three  fifty,"  he  again  squeaked. 

"Twenty-five  hundred,"  from  under  the  trees. 
Everybody  was  now  in  a  high  state  of  excitement. 
Soon  the  word  was  passed  around  the  crowd  that 
Caleb  Abbott  was  bidding  against  Rushton's  Shy- 
lock,  and  old  Shylock's  own  daughter  was  by  his 


156  CALEB  ABBOTT 

side.  What  kind  of  a  game  was  this,  anyhow? 
After  dwelling  on  "twenty-five  hundred"  a  long 
time,  again  the  auctioneer  threatened  to  throw  up 
his  stick. 

"Twenty-five  fifty,"  again  came  from  the  piazza. 

"Twenty-seven  hundred."  The  excitement 
waxed  greater.  That's  above  the  real  value,  ac 
cording  to  country  values !  Silas  Holt  himself  was 
all  smiles.  Who  could  be  forcing  the  price  up  to 
this  figure,  he  wondered?  Why!  he  would  have 
plenty  of  money  after  all.  After  another  long 
wait : 

"Twenty-seven  fifty,"  came  from  the  piazza. 

"Twenty-eight  hundred,"  followed  from  the 
trees.  The  auctioneer  himself  thought  that  now 
the  limit  had  surely  been  reached.  He  was  sur 
prised  to  hear  almost  as  quickly : 

"Twenty-eight  hundred  fifty,"  from  the  piazza.. 
Shylock's  blood  was  up.  What  if  he  did  give  a 
few  hundred  more  than  the  place  was  worth.  He 
had  never  yet  been  beaten.  People  should  not 
have  the  chance  to  say  he  was  beaten  now. 

"Twenty-nine  hundred,"  came  from  under  the 
trees. 


CALEB  ABBOTT  157 

"Twenty-nine  fifty,"  from  the  piazza..  Caleb 
stood  like  a  gladiator.  His  arms  were  folded,  head 
erect.  All  eyes  were  turned  in  his  direction.  He 
knew  who  was  bidding  against  him,  yet  he  could 
not  understand  why  Cyrus  should  bid  so  persist 
ently.  Still  he  had  a  thousand  yet  to  offer,  and  he 
felt  sure  Cyrus  would  quit  before  that  figure  was 
reached. 

"Three  thousand,"  from  Caleb.  Would  old 
Shylock  keep  it  up  ?  No,  his  limit  had  been 
reached.  After  a  long  wait  up  went  the  fatal  stick. 

"Sold!     What's  the  name?" 

"Caleb  Abbott,"  answered  Caleb,  in  a  clear 
voice. 

A  few  nights  after  the  sale  the  usual  crowd  col 
lected  at  the  store.  The  weather  made  a  difference 
in  the  choice  of  seats.  Instead  of  squatting  around 
the  stove  they  were  all  outside  in  the  mid-summer 
twilight,  some  sitting  on  the  steps  whittling;  some 
on  the  empty  cases  outside.  Most  of  the  "regu 
lars"  had  been  over  to  inspect  the  new  depot, 
which  was  fast  nearing  completion,  and  all  talk 
tonight  was  concentrated  on  two  subjects,  the  new 
depot  and  Caleb  Abbott.  They  had  discussed  Sam 


158  CALEB  ABBOTT 

Young  and  Mrs.  Bean  for  days  past.  It  had  hap 
pened  that  Sam  Young  and  Mrs.  Bean  had  packed 
up  and  gone  away  one  night  in  the  early  summer ; 
vamosed ;  eloped  so  they  said.  Such  a  scandal  had 
been  unknown  in  Rushton  for  years.  But  they 
had  gone,  that  was  sure.  Young  left  behind  him 
numerous  unpaid  bills,  and  Mrs.  Bean  a  houseful 
of  little  Beans.  "Pea  beans,"  so  Ed  remarked. 
But  that  subject  had  been  worn  threadbare. 

The  auction  had  taken  place.  Caleb  Abbott  had 
bought  the  Silas  Holt  place  for  three  thousand 
dollars. 

"Can't  understand  it,"  said  Hen.  "  'Tain't  but 
a  little  over  a  year  ago  that  Old  Shylock  had  a 
mortgage  on  Caleb's  place  for  five  hundred.  Now 
he's  gone  into  the  granite  business,  bought  the 
finest  place  in  town,  and  is  studying  law,  too,  so  I 
hearn." 

"How  did  you  know  his  place  was  mortgaged?" 
retorted  Seth.  "Seems  as  if  some  folks  knows 
everybody's  business." 

"Well,  you  needn't  get  your  dander  up,  Seth," 
replied  Hen.  "Father  saw  it  recorded  down  to  the 


CALEB  ABBOTT  159 

County  building,  when  he  was  down  there  a  year 
ago.  That's  how  I  know." 

"What  did  I  tell  ye,  over  a  year  ago?"  said  the 
Deacon,  "when  you  fellers  was  talking  'bout  his 
comin'  down  off  his  high  hoss  and  going  to  work? 
Didn't  I  tell  ye  then  that  I  guessed  he  knew  how? 
And  while  you  fellers  have  been  sitting  around 
talking  about  him,  he's  made  money;  in  less  than 
two  years,  too." 

"How  the  devil  did  he  get  money  'nough  in  that 
time  to  buy  a  three  thousand  dollar  place  and  pay 
up  a  mortgage  besides?"  asked  Hen. 

"How?"  almost  yelled  Seth,  "how?  In  the  first 
place  by  selling  cows  that  warn't  bringing  him  in 
a  dollar,  then  by  working  day  and  night  and  saving 
his  money.  Didn't  I  ask  you  last  winter  when 
grain  was  so  high  how  much  you  was  making  on 
milk?" 

"Yes,  you  did,"  retorted  Hen,  "and  I  told  you  I 
sold  forty  dollars  in  milk  in  December." 

"Yes,  that's  so,"  answered  Seth.  "Then  I  asked 
you  what  you  paid  for  grain  to  the  milk  trust,  and 
you  said  your  grain  bill  for  December  was  thirty- 
two  dollars.  Ever  take  thirty-two  from  forty  when 


160  CALEB  ABBOTT 

you  went  to  skule,  Hen,  and  see  what's  left?  If 
you  didn't  I'll  tell  you;  it's  eight.  And  you  don't 
say  nothing  of  the  hay  and  fodder  you  feed,  be 
sides  your  time." 

"Yes,  that  may  be  all  rights;  but  you  ain't 
showed  me  yet  where  he  got  his  money,"  replied 
Hen  with  a  sneer. 

"Well,  I  can  guess  where  he  got  some  of  it," 
answered  Seth,  who  was  always  Caleb's  champion. 
"He  kept  his  best  cows, — butter  cows.  What  with 
his  egg  and  butter  money,  a  high-priced  boarder, 
and  selling  wood  at  four  dollars  a  cord  delivered; 
working  for  three  fifty  a  day;  doing  mowing  at 
fifty  cents  an  hour;  and  doing  his  own  work  before 
and  after  his  day's  labor;  besides  tradin'  and  other 
ways  we  don't  know  anything  about ;  and  piling  it 
all  away.  I  guess  you'll  find  the  money  accumu 
lated  easy." 

"That's  so,"  chuckled  the  deacon.  "And  you 
mark  my  words ;  that  young  man  will  be  the  rich 
est  man  in  Rushton  inside  ten  years,  barring  the 
banker." 

"Yes,"  Seth  answered,  "you  fellers  just  sit 
around  and  see  him  grow !  But  you're  all  so  curi- 


CALEB  ABBOTT  161 

ous  'bout  the  Silas  Holt  place.  I'll  just  give  you 
a  piece  of  news  to  chaw  over.  'Tain't  no  secret;  if 
'twas  I'd  keep  it  to  myself.  Caleb  didn't  buy  that 
place  at  all.  He  just  bid  it  in  for  Mr.  Upton,  the 
banker,  and  he  got  five  per  cent.,  or  one  hundred 
and  fifty  dollars  for  doing  it.  That's  one  way  he 
gets  his  money.  Makes  more  in  one  day  than  you 
fellers  do  a-raisin'  milk  in  a  year." 

Now  the  secret  was  out,  everyone  felt  relieved. 
Strange,  is  it  not,  how  certain  people  worry  about 
other  people's  business?  Some  one  starts  a  store. 
Everybody  looks  dubious.  "  'Twill  never  pay  in 
this  town !"  They  begin  to  feel  sorry  for  the  poor 
fool  who  has  made  the  venture.  But  it  does  pay, 
and  the  other  store?  that  still  pays,  too.  Susie 
Smith  comes  out  Easter  Sunday  in  a  new  hat.  "It 
must  have  cost  as  much  as  three  dollars.  Her 
father  better  pay  Jim  Jones  the  two  dollars  he's 
owed  him  for  over  a  year,  'stead  of  his  daughter 
buying  new  three-dollar  hats."  But  Susie  earns 
her  own  money,  she  doesn't  know  anything  about 
her  father's  "owing  two  dollars."  Strange  she 
doesn't  know  it;  everybody  else  in  the  village  does. 
But  there  are  a  few  things  that  these  gossiping 


162  CALEB  ABBOTT 

villagers  do  not  get  hold  of,  and  among  the  few 
are  Caleb's  affairs.  He  knows  how  to  keep  his 
affairs  to  himself,  a  characteristic  which  few  of  us 
have. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

FALLEN    FORTUNES. 

Mr.  Upton  had  come  on  from  New  York  to 
make  his  home  in  Rushton,  and  tonight  he  was 
sitting  on  the  piazza  together  with  Marjorie,  Mrs. 
Abbott,  and  Caleb. 

"Do  you  know,  Caleb,  I  can  realize  tonight  how 
a  man  feels  who  has  been  serving  a  long  sentence 
in  prison,  and  has  just  obtained  his  liberty.  Mar 
jorie,  my  dear  child,  do  you  realize  that  I  am 
through  work,  and  that  I  am  to  be  with  you  for 
all  time?" 

"Yes,  Papa,  I  do,  and  I  am  so  happy.  Won't  it 
be  nice  to  go  to  our  own  new  home  on  the  hill? 
Not  but  what  I  have  enjoyed  myself  very  much 
here,  dear  Mrs.  Abbott,"  she  quickly  added,  "but 
there  is  something  so  different  about  your  own 


164  CALEB  ABBOTT 

home,  no  matter  how  nice  and  homelike  some 
other  place  may  be." 

"Indeed  you  are  right,  Marjorie,"  Mrs.  Abbott 
replied.  "I  don't  think  I  could  possibly  leave  my 
own  home." 

"I  hope  you  will  never  have  to,  Mother,"  said 
Caleb.  Then  turning  to  Mr.  Upton  he  continued, 
"I  suppose  you  intend  remodeling  right  away,  do 
you  not?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  Mr.  Upton  replied,  "and  I  want  you 
to  take  general  charge  if  you  will.  Of  course  there 
will  be  a  boss  carpenter  and  a  boss  plumber.  I 
intend  putting  up  a  windmill  and  shall  have  both 
the  house  and  barn  piped.  And  also  a  landscape 
gardener.  But  I  want  you  to  overlook  it  all,  if 
you  will." 

"I  have  no  other  engagements  that  will  prevent 
me.  Haying  is  over,  and  it  will  be  a  little  slack 
from  now  until  sledding  again.  Still,  it  is  rather 
out  of  my  line.  Do  you  think  me  capable  of  the 
duties?" 

"I  certainly  do,  else  I  should  not  have  asked  you 
to  take  the  position.  I  don't  expect  you  to  do 


CALEB  ABBOTT  165 

much  of  the  work,  but  to  use  your  brains  while 
the  workmen  use  their  hands." 

"What  improvements  do  you  intend  to  make, 
Papa?"  asked  Marjorie. 

"Well,"  her  father  replied,  "I  have  my  plans 
pretty  well  laid  out.  Let  me  give  you  a  rough  idea 
of  what  I  intend  to  do.  Of  course  I  want  to  agree 
with  you  in  regard  to  the  house.  Beginning  with 
the  barn,  I  can't  see  as  I  can  improve  it  any  on  the 
outside  at  all.  It's  a  fine  large  barn,  and  needs 
nothing  on  the  outside  but  paint.  Of  course  I 
shall  repaint  all  the  buildings.  But  I  shall  remodel 
the  lower  part  of  the  barn  entirely.  I  intend  to  put 
in  a  new  floor,  and  finish  the  interior  in  Norway 
pine  or  cypress.  I  shall  have  box  stalls  and  a 
harness  room,  also  a  room  for  the  coachman.  I 
intend  ploughing  up  and  leveling  down  that  un 
gainly  hump  in  front  of  the  house,  grading  the 
lawn  properly.  Then  I  shall  build  on  a  large 
veranda,  having  for  an  underpinning  our  rusty 
granite  from  the  Rushton  Granite  Company.  I 
don't  know  of  anything  else  to  speak  of  on  the 
exterior  of  the  house.  It  is  a  grand  old  colonial 
mansion  now,  and  I  don't  want  to  spoil  its  lines. 


166  CALEB  ABBOTT 

Inside,  however,  I  shall  make  many  changes. 
That  is,"  laughingly  he  added,  "with  your  permis 
sion,  my  dear  Marjorie,  as  you  will  be  mistress. 
Here  are  some  of  the  possible  changes.  In  the 
first  place  we  must  have  a  bath  room.  Do  you 
remember  that  great,  unused  closet  near  the 
central  chimney  upstairs?  Well,  that  will  make  a 
fine  bath  room,  it  is  so  conveniently  situated. 
Then,  downstairs  I  shall  take  away  the  partition 
which  divides  the  hallway  from  the  large  front 
room,  open  the  whole  into  one  great  living  room. 
I  shall  also  change  the  front  stairway ;  and  face  the 
old  fireplace  with  tile  or  fancy  brick.  I  shall  take 
out  those  two  closets  which  are  each  side  the  fire 
place  and  make  cozy  corners  in  their  places.  We'll 
put  hard  wood  floors  in  the  dining  room  and  also 
in  the  south  room,  which  I  shall  convert  into  a 
library  and  den  for  my  own  use.  I  shall  use  the 
large  shed  which  connects  with  the  house  and 
which  has  been  used  for  a  wood  shed  in  which  to 
put  in  either  steam  or  hot  water  for  heating  pur 
poses.  The  windmill  which  I  shall  erect,  and  in 
fact  have  already  placed  an  order  for,  will  furnish 
both  the  house  and  barn  with  water.  We'll  also 


CALEB  ABBOTT  167 

refurnish  the  entire  house;  repainting  or  staining 
all  the  wood  work  and  repapering  every  room. 
The  papering  and  furnishing  I  shall  leave  entirely 
to  you,  my  daughter.  Now  do  you  think  I  have 
given  you  a  clear  idea  of  my  plans?" 

"Indeed  I  do,"  replied  Marjorie,  "and  I  shall 
just  enjoy  my  share  of  the  responsibility." 

"I  think,"  said  Caleb,  "that  your  ideas  are  all 
right.  But  it  will  cost  a  lot  of  money,  and  it  will 
be  quite  an  innovation  for  Rushton." 

"Well,"  smilingly  answered  Mr.  Upton,  "I 
guess  I  can  pay  for  it  and  still  have  a  few  dollars 
left.  I  want  everything  up  to  date,  even  if  it  is  in 
the  country." 

Cyrus  Whitney  was  going  wrong.  He  was  not 
making  money  fast  enough,  at  least  so  he  thought. 
His  greed  was  not  satisfied  with  eight  and  ten  per 
cent,  per  month.  He  wanted  to  double  his  money 
in  a  week's  time  if  possible,  and  he  thought  he  had 
found  a  way  to  do  it.  He  had  been  advised  to  go 
into  stocks.  He  had  made  quite  a  study  of  stocks 
and  stock  methods,  and  was  thoroughly  posted,  he 
thought.  So  others  have  thought;  trusted  bank 
clerks,  town  treasurers,  and  others.  But  Cyrus 


168  CALEB  ABBOTT 

had  some  grounds  for  his  confidence.  He  had 
been  told  to  buy  Coppers,  and  Coppers  he  had 
bought.  Not  much,  but  they  paid.  In  fact  they 
flew,  and  when  Cyrus  began  to  get  his  big  returns 
in  such  a  short  time,  he  regretted  that  he  had  been 
all  these  years  lending  money  for  a  paltry  twenty 
or  thirty  per  cent.  Why  it  was  just  like  finding 
money,  this  stock  business!  He  hastened  to  con 
vert  his  loans  into  cash,  whenever  he  could;  fore 
closing  some,  selling  others,  in  order  to  invest  still 
further  in  stocks.  In  fact  he  was  now  a  confirmed 
stock  gambler  with  the  gambler's  craze.  He  could 
not  let  go.  The  more  he  lost  the  more  anxious  he 
was  to  place  more  where  he  had  already  invested 
with  vain  hopes  for  returns.  It  doesn't  take  long 
to  spend  a  hundred  thousand  or  so,  when  you  are 
always  on  the  wrong  side  of  the  market.  He  woke 
up  every  morning  in  anxious  suspense  as  to  what 
the  day  would  bring  forth,  and  it  was  pretty  sure 
to  bring  forth  something  like  this :  "C  B  &  Q  off 
two  points,  send  two  thousand  to  cover."  Or, 
"Copper  down  one  and  a  half;  must  send  fifteen 
hundred."  And  off  would  go  the  money  never  to 
return.  One  day  he  received  a  circular  from  a  new 


CALEB  ABBOTT  169 

firm,  "Pitcher  &  Vetts,"  stating  that  a  firm  was  to 
be  formed  to  control  certain  stocks.  His  pride 
knew  no  bounds.  How  did  they  know  about  him, 
Cyrus  Whitney,  way  up  here  in  Rushton?  Ah, 
Cyrus !  the  hawk  flies  many  miles  for  the  little  jay, 
and  jays  are  thick  in  the  country.  He  shifted  his 
investments  and  while  the  circular  only  suggested 
a  contribution  of  from  one  hundred  to  one  thou 
sand,  Cyrus  Whitney  showed  them  that  he  was 
liberal,  and  sent  them  the  last  two  thousand  dollars 
he  possessed.  A  few  days  later,  the  fatal  yellow 
paper  came,  stating  that  because  of  an  extra  heavy 
shipment  of  gold  to  England,  stocks  are  off  two 
points,  and  demanding  that  he  send  four  thousand 
at  once.  But  Cyrus!  The  money-lender!  He 
had  not  four  thousand  to  send.  So  while  Pitcher, 
who,  a  few  years  ago,  was  a  dry  goods  clerk  at  nine 
dollars  per  week,  was  off  on  a  cruise  in  his  new 
ten  thousand  dollar  yacht,  and  Vetts,  who  never 
had  been  anything  but  a  gambler,  was  driving  a 
four-in-hand  somewhere  through  the  country, 
poor  Cyrus  Whitney  saw  ruin  staring  him  in  the 
face.  The  fortune  which  it  had  taken  a  lifetime  to 
accumulate  was  swept  away  in  a  few  short  months. 


170  CALEB  ABBOTT 

But  he  must  not  delay.  His  home  would  have  to 
be  mortgaged.  He  must  have  the  money  to  meet 
the  broker's  demands,  or  lose  everything.  Ah! 
Cyrus,  you  are  not  alone,  and  here  in  Free  America 
they  won't  even  bury  you  after  getting  your  all. 
They  will  do  this  at  Monte  Carlo — or  send  you 
home  after  you  are  broke. 

Rushton  was  booming.  Many  of  the  old, 
unused  buildings  were  now  being  occupied  by 
families  who  had  found  work  and  located  in  town. 
Many  of  these  places  had  been  owned  or  partly 
owned  by  Cyrus  Whitney,  who  in  his  anxiety  to 
get  ready  money  had  sold  them  for  anything  they 
would  bring.  Caleb,  who  had  by  this  time  quite 
a  sum  of  ready  money,  invested  in  several  of  these 
places  and  immediately  found  tenants  to  occupy 
them  at  a  good  rental.  He  had  also  bought  the 
saw  and  grist  mill,  and  hired  Edmund  Taylor  to 
superintend  the  running  of  it.  He  was  doing  a  big 
business  at  the  mill  at  the  present  time  owing 
principally  to  the  building  and  repairing  going  on 
in  the  village.  Mr.  Upton  was  installed  in  his  new 
home.  The  new  depot  was  long  since  finished,  and 
many  cottages  had  been  newly  built.  Rushton 


CALEB  ABBOTT  171 

had  a  board  of  trade  and  also  a  real  estate  syndi 
cate  formed  of  Mr.  Upton,  Jack  Stevens,  Doctors 
Sherman  and  Higgins,  Deacon  Patch,  Caleb  and  a 
few  others.  They  had  bought  all  the  land  and 
buildings  on  both  sides  the  main  street,  intending 
to  tear  down  or  remove  the  weather-beaten 
wooden  buildings,  and  were  to  erect  two  fine 
blocks  of  two  stories  each  for  stores  and  offices. 
Merrill's  grocery  store  was  situated  in  one  of  these 
old  buildings  and  it  looked  as  if  his  days  of  busi 
ness  in  Rushton  were  short. 

Tonight  around  the  old  store  the  usual  crowd 
were  carrying  on  a  brisk  conversation. 

"What  yer  going  to  do,  Merrill,  when  the  new 
Boston  Branch  Store  opens  up?"  asked  Ed. 

''Don't  know,"  sullenly  replied  Merrill.  "Guess 
I  can  do  business  just  the  same." 

"I  don't  know  'bout  that,"  said  Seth.  "You'll 
have  to  meet  their  prices.  If  they  sell  coffee  for 
twenty-five  cents  a  pound,  you  can't  get  thirty- 
eight  ;  and  if  they  sell  terbacca  three  for  twenty- 
five  you  can't  get  ten  cents  a  plug." 

"I  shall  keep  my  prices  just  the  same,"  retorted 
Merrill,  "and  I  suppose  you  fellers  that  has  been 


172  CALEB  ABBOTT 

grubbing  on  me  an'  using  my  heat  all  winter  an* 
spitting  terbacca  juice  all  over  the  store  will  be  the 
first  ones  to  desert  me." 

"Got  to  keep  up  to  the  times,  Merrill.  If  Rush- 
ton's  going  ahead  we've  got  to  go  ahead  with  it," 
said  the  Deacon. 

"Yes,"  angrily  retorted  Merrill,  "an'  you're  one 
of  'em.  You  warn't  satisfied  with  our  nice  little 
town,  but  you've  got  to  help  'em  out,  with  their 
new  fangled  notions.  The  new  railroad,  that's 
drove  old  John  Libby  out  of  business  already. 
Now  you're  talking  of  a  man  for  a  post  master 
that'll  drive  the  widow  post  mistress  out  of  busi 
ness.  Then  you  talk  'bout  a  new  grocery  store  to 
drive  me  out  of  business,  an'  I  suppose  the  next 
thing  will  be  a  new  hotel  and  drive  Kettchum  out 
of  town.  Skinner  is  nearly  broke  now.  Can't  sell 
off  the  cart  any  more,  with  your  western  beef 
a-comin'  in.  Pretty  soon  there  won't  be  an  old 
inhabitant  left." 

"Well,"  answered  Seth,  "Libby's  got  money 
enough  to  live  on;  the  widow  gets  her  pension; 
there  ain't  many  of  us  would  be  sorry  to  see 
Kettchum's  joint  break  up,  and  if  Skinner  wants 


CALEB  ABBOTT  173 

to  buy  western  beef  'stead  of  old  cows  he  can  still 
sell  off  the  cart.  These  are  movin'  days,  Merrill, 
an'  we've  got  to  move  with  'em." 

''That's  so,"  said  the  Deacon  with  a  chuckle. 
"And  what  did  I  tell  yer  'bout  Caleb  Abbott  mov 
ing  along.  Comin'  most  fast  'nough  to  suit  yer, 
ain't  he?  Half  owner  of  the  Rushton  Granite 
Company,  director  in  the  real  estate  syndicate, 
president  of  the  board  of  trade,  owner  of  a  saw  and 
grist  mill  and  several  pieces  of  real  estate,  just 
admitted  to  the  bar  as  a  practicin'  lawyer,  an' 
going  to  be  selectman  next  town  meetin',  too. 
How  does  that  sound  for  a  self-made  man  that 
ain't  twenty-five  yet?" 

"He's  a  pretty  lucky  man,"  said  Ed  with  a  sigh. 

"Lucky,"  retorted  Seth.  "You  all  had  the  same 
chance.  'Tain't  luck ;  it's  work.  It's  seein'  things 
as  they  come  along.  How  many  hours  has  he 
killed  setting  round  this  old  stove  a-talkin'  of  his 
neighbors?  How  many  hours  has  he  put  in 
squattin'  around  old  Kettchum's  dirty  table  playin' 
forty-fives?  I  tell  you  it's  work  and  brains.  An' 
while  ye  fellers  has  been  setting  round  here 
a-talkin'  about  him  an'  everybody  else  yer  can 


174  CALEB  ABBOTT 

find  to  talk  'bout,  he's  been  studyin'  law  to  home 
evenings  for  over  two  years.  That's  how  he's  done 
it.  Smart;  you  all  know  that.  He  ain't  raised  a 
tater  or  a  onion  without  fust  figuring  out  if  there 
was  any  money  in  it." 

"He'll  be  one  of  our  next  selectmen,  by  gosh!" 
"Right  you  are,  Seth,"  said  Ed.  "I  admire  him 
for  his  pluck.  Some  of  you  fellers  think  he's  stuck 
up;  he  ain't.  I  know  that.  He  ain't  got  time  to 
stop  and  talk  nothing  with  everybody  he  meets. 
That's  all.  He's  square,  and  he'll  get  my  vote,  you 
can  bet  on  that." 

>)c  *  HC  ^c  j|c 

One  morning  after  a  slight  fall  of  snow  Mr. 
Upton  drove  over  to  Caleb's  bright  and  early.  He 
had  his  gun  and  hound  with  him.  Meeting  Caleb 
in  the  yard  he  asked : 

"Have  you  been  to  breakfast  yet,  Caleb?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  answered  Caleb,  "some  time  ago. 
You  see  I  don't  have  to  get  up  and  milk  now.  My 
man  does  all  the  chores,  so  I  find  it  hard  to  kill 
time ;  I  eat  breakfast  early." 

"Well,"  replied  Mr.  Upton,  "I  am  glad  of  that. 
Go  get  your  gun  and  we  will  give  the  foxes  a  try. 


CALEB  ABBOTT  175 

This  is  a  grand  morning  for  them  and  they  ought 
to  run  well.  This  dog  is  one  I  have  on  trial  and  I 
am  anxious  to  use  him.  He  is  recommended 
highly  and  if  he  doesn't  start  a  fox  or  two  today  I 
shall  be  greatly  mistaken." 

"1  don't  know/'  hesitated  Caleb,  "I  don't  want 
to  disappoint  you,  but  I  have  so  much  to  do.  I 
don't  really  think  I  ought  to  spare  the  time.  Still, 
I  should  enjoy  a  fox  hunt  on  such  a  day  as  this." 

"Now  what  have  you  got  to  do  today  that  can't 
wait  until  tomorrow?"  asked  Mr.  Upton. 

"Let  me  see;  I've  got  to  go  to  the  mill  with 
some  orders  for  Taylor.  Then  there  are  some 
repairs  to  be  made  on  the  Cummings'  cottage.  I 
have  a  tenant  waiting  to  go  in  just  as  soon  as  I  can 
fix  it  up." 

"Look  here,  Caleb,"  said  Mr.  Upton.  "How 
long  is  it  since  you  had  a  holiday?" 

Caleb  laughed.  "Since  you  speak  of  it,  with  one 
exception  it's  just  three  years;  and  that  exception 
was  the  Holt  auction.  Thanks  to  your  liberality 
it  was  the  best  paid  day's  work  I  have  ever  done." 

"If  that  auction  is  the  only  holiday  you  have  had 
in  three  years  it's  about  time  you  had  another.  I 


176  CALEB  ABBOTT 

insist  on  your  coming  with  me.  You  have  a  man 
here  to  look  after  things.  We  pass  the  mill  on  our 
way,  and  you  can  let  the  repairs  go  one  more  day." 

".You  have  settled  it,"  answered  Caleb.  "The 
morning  is  so  fine  and  the  conditions  are  so  good 
for  starting  a  fox  that  I  guess  I  will  go.  I  am 
just  longing  for  a  shot  at  a  fox.  I  sha'n't  be  but  a 
minute  getting  ready.  Come  in  while  I  get  my 
gun  and  shells;  and  put  on  my  boots." 

Off  they  went.  What  is  more  exhilarating  than 
a  genuine  fox  hunt  on  some  crisp  winter  morning, 
over  hill  and  meadow,  through  woods  and  pas 
tures,  with  the  sound  of  the  deep  baying  of  the 
hounds  always  in  your  ears?  The  expectancy 
every  moment  of  seeing  the  sly  old  fellow  pop  into 
view  adds  the  final  zest. 

They  went  down  the  road,  Caleb  stopping  at  the 
mill  to  leave  his  orders.  Then,  with  all  care  ban 
ished  for  the  day,  they  started  for  the  hunt.  They 
crossed  the  brook  and  the  meadow  beyond  which 
led  to  Cyrus  Whitney's  land.  They  had  scarcely 
ascended  the  first  knoll,  a  likely  place  for  a  fox 
with  its  wild,  rocky  surface,  clumps  of  beech  or  oak 
here  and  there,  or  again  an  open,  beyond  which 


CALEB  ABBOTT  177 

lay  the  deep  forest  of  pine  and  hemlock,  when  the 
hound  with  his  nose  to  the  ground  caught  the 
scent.  He  dashed  off,  keeping  up  a  prolonged, 
deep  baying,  a  sound  dismal  and  weird  to  ^he 
uninitiated,  but  most  musical  to  the  thorough 
sportsman. 

The  track  was  fresh.  Caleb  and  Mr.  Upton 
divided,  Mr.  Upton  going  to  the  left  while  Caleb 
started  to  the  right.  Just  beyond  the  second 
growth  of  beeches  Caleb  caught  a  glimpse  of  the 
fox,  apparently  making  for  a  cover  in  the  dense 
woods  behind  Cyrus  Whitney's  home.  He  fol 
lowed  quickly.  When  just  in  the  rear  of  the  barn 
he  heard  or  thought  he  heard  a  shriek.  He 
stopped  a  moment  to  locate  the  sound  to  see  if  it 
would  be  repeated.  Again  he  heard  it.  It  was  an 
agonized  cry.  He  hastened  toward  the  barn, 
thinking  it  was  from  there  that  the  sound  had 
come.  As  he  neared  the  barn  he  heard  the  cry, 
"Oh,  Father!"  then  a  sob.  It  sounded  like  Hilda's 
voice.  Could  Hilda  be  in  trouble?  Quick  as  a 
flash  Caleb  burst  in  the  door.  There  he  saw  a  sight 
which  nearly  froze  the  blood  in  his  veins.  On  a 
beam  above  the  central  loft  Cyrus  Whitney  hung 


178  CALEB  ABBOTT 

suspended  by  a  rope  around  his  neck.  His  long, 
lank  figure  stretched  its  full  length.  His  eyes  were 
almost  bulging  from  their  sockets.  Hilda,  who 
had  climbed  to  the  loft,  was  trying  with  all  her 
strength  to  lift  her  father,  that  his  weight  should 
be  off  the  rope.  Taking  in  the  situation  at  a 
glance  Caleb  hastily  ascended  the  ladder  and  with 
out  a  word  to  Hilda,  climbed  to  the  upright  cross 
beam  above,  over  which  Cyrus  had  thrown  the 
rope.  Lying  flat  upon  the  beam,  he  placed  one 
arm  under  the  arms  of  Cyrus,  while  with  his  other 
hand  he  cut  the  rope.  Then  hanging  head  down 
ward,  he  easily  and  gently  lowered  Cyrus  down  to 
the  loft  beneath,  dropping  down  himself  beside 
him.  He  loosened  the  rope  and  Cyrus  lay  as  one 
dead  at  his  feet.  Then  for  the  first  time  Hilda 
spoke. 

"Oh  Caleb !"  she  cried  in  her  anguish,  "is  it  too 
late — is  he  dead?" 

"No,  I  think  not.  But  run  you,  Hilda,  for 
Doctor  Sherman.  Jump  on  your  horse  and  bring 
him  here  at  once.  I  will  do  what  I  can  while  you 
are  gone.  See !  he  is  alive !"  as  Cyrus  gave  a  gasp. 
"Go;  don't  fall!"  Hilda  needed  no  second  bid- 


CALEB  ABBOTT  179 

ding.  While  Hilda's  father  had  been  close  and 
hard  with  others,  he  had  always  been  gentle,  and 
for  his  hard  nature,  liberal  with  her.  Hilda  loved 
her  father,  loved  him  even  more  perhaps  because 
she  knew  he  had  no  other  friend  in  the  world. 
While  Hilda  hurried  to  Dr.  Sherman's,  Caleb 
worked  his  best  over  Mr.  Whitney.  He  knew 
nothing  about  such  cases.  But  his  natural  good 
sense  told  him  he  must  do  his  best  to  get  back  the 
circulation  which  had  almost  if  not  entirely 
stopped,  and  when  the  doctor  arrived,  which  he 
did  very  soon,  as  he  happened  to  be  at  home, 
Cyrus  had  already  shown  signs  of  returning  life. 
Soon  after  the  doctor's  skilful  work  he  was  able  to 
walk  to  the  house. 

As  they  approached   the  house,    Dr.    Sherman 

remarked : 

"There  is  no  necessity  of  this  getting  about. 
We  four  are  the  only  ones  who  know  about  it. 
Mr.  Whitney  himself  will  scarcely  speak  of  it,  and 
certainly  Hilda  will  not.  A  doctor  always  has  his 
secrets,  and  you,  Caleb,  I  know  we  can  depend 
upon  you.  But  if  inquiries  are  made,  remember, 
Mr.  Whitney  had  a  shock.  It  will  be  no  falsehood. 


180  CALEB  ABBOTT 

It  certainly  is  a  shock;  to  all  of  us  in  fact."  Mr. 
Whitney  was  put  to  bed,  and  the  doctor  shortly 
joined  Caleb  in  the  sitting  room. 

"How  is  he  now?"  inquired  Caleb. 

"Oh,  he  will  soon  be  asleep,  and  he  will  come 
out  of  this  right  enough.  But  he  is  a  physical 
wreck;  nerves  all  shattered,  a  weak  heart  and,  if 
he  lives  long,  a  weak  intellect,  too,  I  fear.  He 
can't  live  very  long,  however,  naturally;  and  he 
must  be  watched  that  he  doesn't  attempt  anything 
of  the  kind  again.  I  am  afraid  his  troubles  have 
unbalanced  his  brain.  But  he  must  not  die  by  his 
own  hand,  for  his  daughter's  sake  if  for  no  other 
reason.  His  days  are  numbered,  poor  man.  It 
must  have  been  a  terrible  blow  to  him  to  see  the 
fortune  which  he  had  been  a  life-time  accumulat 
ing  dwindle  away  to  nothing  in  less  than  a  year's 
time." 

"Yes,"  answered  Caleb.  "It  is  a  fearful  lesson, 
yet  he  is  not  alone ;  and  no  matter  how  many  les 
sons  there  are,  there  are  still  others  left  who  think 
they  can  beat  a  man  at  his  own  game,  and  find  out 
their  folly  only  too  late.  I  am  glad  he  is  improv- 


CALEB  ABBOTT  181 

ing;  it  would  have  been  a  terrible  blow  to  Hilda  to 
have  him  die  this  way." 

"That  is  true,"  replied  Dr.  Sherman.  "He  laid 
his  plans  all  right  to  have  made  a  success  of  it. 
The  only  reason  it  was  a  failure  was  because  he 
did  not  have  the  strength  in  his  body  to  kick  the 
plank  from  under  him,  and  so  was  slowly  stran 
gling  to  death.  However,  I  must  be  off.  If  you 
are  going  along  I  will  give  you  a  lift." 

"No,"  answered  Caleb,  "I  don't  think  I  will  go 
yet.  I  will  wait  and  see  Hilda.  Perhaps  I  can  do 
something  for  her,  or  give  her  some  advice  in 
regard  to  her  father." 

"Very  well.  But  I  would  not  talk  too  long 
today,  old  man ;  some  other  day." 

So  the  doctor  took  his  departure.  Shortly  after 
Hilda  entered  the  room,  her  eyes  red  with  weep 
ing. 

"You  still  here,  Caleb?"  she  exclaimed.  "How 
kind  of  you  to  stop,  and  what  a  blessing  that  you 
happened  along!  You  have  saved  Father's  life, 
and  I  don't  know  how  to  thank  you.  Oh!  he  feels 
so  bad !  He  cried  like  a  baby  and  said  he  had  not 
a  friend  in  the  world.  He  said  that  he  never  knew 


182  CALEB  ABBOTT 

until  today  that  even  I,  his  own  daughter,  loved 
him.  You  see,  we  have  never  been  very  affection 
ate,  and  he  really  thought  I  had  no  love  for  him. 
But  he  knows  now,  and  he  is  better  for  it.  I  told 
him  that  you  were  his  friend,  too.  He  could 
hardly  believe  it,  but  he  wants  to  see  you  to 
morrow,  if  you  can  spare  the  time." 

"Certainly,  I  can  run  over  tomorrow;  in  fact,  I 
intended  to,  anyway." 

"Do,"  said  Hilda.  "I  am  afraid,"  with  hesita 
tion,  "that  his  affairs  are  badly  mixed  up.  I  think 
he  wants  your  advice.  Perhaps  you  have  heard, 
as  others  have,  that  our  home  is  heavily  mort 
gaged?"  Hilda  added  bravely,  "and  as  you  are  a 
lawyer  now  you  can  help  him  in  his  affairs." 

"I  am  a  lawyer,  that's  a  fact !  I  had  forgotten  all 
about  it.  You  see  I  have  not  put  my  shingle  out 
yet.  I  am  waiting  for  the  new  block  to  be  finished 
and  shall  then  open  an  office  in  it.  You  tell  your 
Father,  Hilda,  that  this  will  be  my  first  case,  and 
for  advertising  purposes  I  won't  charge  anything. 
I  believe  that's  the  way  the  doctor  did  with  one  of 
his  first  cases,  and  I  guess  the  advertisement  paid, 
judging  by  the  business  he  is  doing  now." 


CALEB  ABBOTT  183 

"You  are  very  kind,"  said  Hilda.  "We  don't 
want  to  impose  on  you,  but  I  am  afraid,"  falter- 
ingly,  "there  will  not  be  much  to  pay  any  one  with 
anyway.  I  don't  believe  Father  has  a  dollar  left." 

Shortly  after,  Caleb  arose  to  go  and  Hilda 
accompanied  him  to  the  door.  Caleb  reached  in 
his  pocket  and  drew  out  a  roll  of  bills. 

"Here,  Hilda,"  he  said,  "take  this  for  present 
uses."  Seeing  a  look  in  Hilda's  face  of  refusal  he 
added  before  she  could  refuse,  "You  will  need 
some  money.  You  don't  understand  what  it  is  to 
be  without  it,  with  no  credit." 

"No,  no !"  said  Hilda,  "not  from  you,  don't  ask 
me.  I  thank  you  just  the  same,  but  I  cannot." 

"But  I  insist,"  said  Caleb.  "You  will  need 
money.  It  is  only  a  loan." 

"A  loan,"  replied  Hilda,  sadly.  "And  how  can 
that  loan  be  repaid,  pray  tell  me?" 

"I  am  your  attorney  now.  It  is  no  matter  how 
bad  shape  a  client's  affairs  are  in,  trust  a  lawyer 
for  getting  his  share.  You  must  take  it.  In  fact 
you  shall  take  it,"  and  Caleb  pressed  the  bills  into 
her  hand.  He  felt  her  fingers  close  upon  the 


184  CALEB  ABBOTT 

money,  and  he  knew  that  he  felt,  too,  a  pressure 
upon  his  own  hand  from  hers. 

Caleb  was  just  descending  the  hill  when  he 
heard  a  loud  "Hello !"  Looking  back  he  saw  Mr. 
Upton  approaching.  He  looked  more  closely  and 
saw  him  holding  up  to  view  a  fox. 

"Isn't  he  a  beauty?"  he  shouted. 

"Yes,"  Caleb  replied  as  the  two  came  together. 
"Did  he  give  you  much  of  a  run?" 

"Indeed  he  did;  a  half  dozen  miles  or  more. 
Say,  this  dog  is  a  great  hunter.  He  started  an 
other  one,  but  I  confess  I  was  too  fagged  out  by 
the  time  I  landed  this  one  to  follow  the  trail  of  a 
second.  I  heard  the  discharge  of  a  gun  shortly 
after  and  as  the  dog  soon  came  back,  I  decided 
that  you  had  shot  it.  But  as  I  see  you  have  no 
fox  and  in  fact  no  gun," — for  Caleb  in  the  recent 
excitement  had  forgotten  even  the  start  of  the 
morning, — "probably  some  other  hunter  shot  it 
ahead  of  the  dog,  for  I  am  satisfied  he  would  never 
leave  a  scent  after  once  starting.  But  where  in 
the  world  have  you  been?"  So  Caleb  told  him 
that  Mr.  Whitney  had  had  a  shock  in  the  barn,  and 
that  as  he  happened  to  be  passing  the  barn  when 


CALEB  ABBOTT  185 

Hilda  discovered  her  father,  he  had  helped  him 
into  the  house,  and  had  stayed  throughout  the  day 
with  the  doctor  and  Hilda. 

"Poor  Whitney!"  Mr.  Upton  ejaculated.  "I 
am  very  sorry  for  Hilda,  dear  girl.  I  am  glad  you 
happened  along  to  assist  them.  But  your  day's 
sport  has  been  spoiled,  nevertheless.  We  must  go 
again.  I  haven't  enjoyed  anything  so  for  years. 
I'm  so  hungry,  I  could  eat  a  bear." 


CHAPTER  X. 

IN   WHICH    MANY    THINGS    HAPPEN. 

The  next  day  Caleb  called  at  Mr.  Whitney's  and 
was  met  at  the  door  by  Hilda,  who  took  him  to 
her  father,  and  then  left  them  alone.  Caleb  was 
suprised  at  the  change  in  Cyrus.  He  had  always 
been  tall,  lank  and  lantern  jawed.  But  now  he 
seemed  almost  a  living  skeleton  as  he  sat  in  the 
great  armchair  by  the  open  fire,  his  eyes  deep- 
sunken,  and  his  voice, — that  shrill  squeaky  voice, 
dreaded  in  the  past  by  many, — was  now  so  faint 
that  he  spoke  with  an  effort,  almost  in  a  whisper. 
"The  doctor  was  right,"  thought  Caleb.  "No 
need  of  this  man  taking  his  own  life.  God  will  do 
that  very  soon." 

"How  do  you  feel  today,  Mr.  Whitney?"  asked 
Caleb  in  a  cheerful  voice. 

"Feeble,  very  feeble,  Caleb.  I  have  got  some 
business  to  attend  to  and  I  guess  I  can't  do  it  any 


CALEB  ABBOTT  187 

too  soon.  Be  kind  enough  to  bring  me  that  large 
iron  box  over  there,  please.  Looks  prosperous 
don't  it?"  he  added.  "Well,"  with  a  sigh,  "it  has 
been.  How  much  do  you  suppose  I  was  worth, 
Caleb,  twelve  months  ago?" 

"I  couldn't  tell,  sir,"  replied  Caleb.  "I  have 
heard  your  wealth  estimated  anywhere  from  fifty 
to  a  hundred  thousand." 

"Oh!  I  don't  like  to  think  of  it  now,"  moaned 
Cyrus.  "Twelve  months  ago  I  could  have  cleaned 
up  a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand,  today  I  have 
nothing.  I  don't  care  much  for  myself,"  he  added, 
"it  never  did  me  much  good.  But  Hilda,  my 
daughter,  she  could  have  used  it  well,  and  now. 
But  you  won't  let  her  come  to  want,  Caleb,  will 
you.  after  I  am  gone?  Say  that  you  won't,"  he 
moaned  pitifully  while  the  tears  rolled  down  his 
cheeks. 

"Don't  dwell  on  the  past,  Mr.  Whitney,  it's  the 
future  you  want  to  look  into.  As  for  dear  Hilda, 
she  shall  never  want  while  I  live.  But  let  us  see 
what  we  can  save  out  of  this  wreck.  It  may  not 
be  as  bad  as  you  fear."  Caleb  opened  the  box 
which  was  full  of  papers  neatly  tied  into  separate 


188  CALEB  ABBOTT 

packages.  Caleb  looked  through  bundle  after 
bundle:  Rushton  bills;  receipted  stocks;  bonds, 
loans  and  notes ;  in  fact  the  papers  of  years.  Lay 
ing  aside  those  which  were  paid  or  cancelled,  he 
put  together  in  one  heap  those  he  was  to  look 
over. 

"There  are  a  few  stocks,"  said  Cyrus,  taking  up 
a  package,  "most  of  my  dealings  were  on  margins. 
But  I  did  buy  a  few  cheap  stocks  outright.  Now 
here's  some  oil  stock.  There  is  quite  a  block  of 
it.  It  was  only  a  few  cents  a  share  when  I  bought 
it.  It's  non-assessable;  and  non-sellable,  too," 
he  added  with  a  sickly  smile.  "I  have  tried  to  sell 
it  several  times,  but  could  never  find  another  fool 
as  big  a  fool  as  myself.  It  may  be  worth  some 
thing  some  day.  Keep  it,  anyhow,  and  once  in  a 
while  look  it  up.  Then  here  is  some  Klondike 
Gold  Company.  Sounds  good,  don't  it?"  taking 
up  the  papers.  "I  am  supposed  to  be  part  owner 
in  several  acres  of  land  somewhere  in  Alaska,  if 
the  company  is  still  alive.  You  might  possibly 
hear  from  that  some  day.  Put  that  aside  too,  and 
keep  track  of  it.  Though  the  two  together  ain't 
worth  the  paper  they  are  written  on  in  all  proba- 


CALEB  ABBOTT  189 

bility."  So  they  went  on  through  the  papers; 
there  was  indeed  little  left  of  apparent  value. 
They  talked  over  the  mortgage  and  the  several 
attachments  against  the  estate,  Caleb  giving  Cyrus 
such  encouragement  as  he  could,  leaving  him  at 
last,  with  a  load  lifted  from  his  poor  distracted 
brain. 

Hilda  was  sitting  by  the  window  in  the  sitting 
room,  when  Caleb  entered  the  room,  engaged  with 
some  kind  of  fancy  work.  The  work  had  fallen  in 
her  lap  and  she  sat  with  her  elbow  on  the  window 
sill  gazing  out  at  the  beautiful  view  beyond.  The 
setting  sun  threw  a  few  parting  rays  across  her 
beautiful  hair.  The  snow  which  covered  the  hills 
beyond,  formed  a  background  of  virgin  purity. 
Hilda  herself  with  a  sad  look  on  her  face,  but  with 
the  roses  still  in  her  cheeks  formed  a  picture  never 
to  be  forgotten.  Caleb  never  realized  before  how 
beautiful  she  really  was.  Her  laughter  had  ever 
been  a  pleasant  sound  to  Caleb's  ears.  Now  she 
was  in  trouble,  and  he  had  never  seen  her  sorrow 
ful  before.  There  was  a  new  look  in  her  face,  and 
he  thought  if  anything  it  enhanced  her  beauty. 


190  CALEB  ABBOTT 

He  stood  gazing  in  silent  admiration;  and  Hilda, 
as  if  she  felt  his  gaze,  turned  and  said, 

"Oh!  is  it  you,  Caleb?  And  are  you  through 
with  business?" 

"Yes,"  Caleb  replied.  "I  think  so,  for  today. 
Now,  Hilda,  I  will  tell  you  what  we  have  decided 
to  do.  I  think  you  ought  to  know  because  I  do 
not  think  your  father  will  be  with  you  long." 

"Oh,  do  you  think  it  must  come  so  soon?"  she 
asked  in  alarm. 

"Yes,  I  do.  I  thought  it  best  to  tell  you.  Now, 
in  a  word,  I  will  be  as  brief  as  possible.  There  are 
a  few  things  that  must  be  attended  to  at  once.  In 
the  first  place  the  interest  on  the  mortgage  is  due 
and  must  be  paid.  Then  there  are  several  attach 
ments  upon  the  property  which  tie  up  everything. 
You  can't  dispose  of  anything  if  you  wish  to. 
Moreover,  these  claims,  your  father  says,  are  just, 
and  should  be  paid.  We  think  it  best  to  pay  them 
at  once,  thus  to  stop  further  costs.  That  is  the 
first  thing  to  be  done.  The  amount  is  not  large." 
Caleb  did  not  tell  Hilda  that  it  would  take  several 
hundred  dollars  to  accomplish  this.  "And  I  have 
offered  the  necessary  amount  to  your  father.  I 


CALEB  ABBOTT  191 

was  willing  to  take  his  note  for  the  amount." 
(Caleb  knew  that  the  note  would  be  worth  noth 
ing.)  "But  he  insists  on  my  taking  a  second  mort 
gage  as  security.  I  dislike  to  do  this,  but  as  he  will 
not  allow  me  to  advance  it  on  any  other  terms,  I 
have  agreed  to  do  it  with  your  permission." 

"But  Caleb,"  answered  Hilda,  "I  don't  know 
much  about  business  and  mortgages,  but  I  have 
heard  that  our  place  was  mortgaged  for  all  it  is 
worth,  how  then  can  your  money  be  secured?  I 
cannot  let  you  take  chances  of  losing  your  hard 
earned  money  to  save  our  disgrace." 

"Oh,  I  shall  not  be  taking  any  chances,"  he  re 
plied,  although  he  knew  the  great  risk  full  well. 
"You  see  the  second  mortgagee  is  like  the  lawyer, 
he  doesn't  get  left.  Often  times  in  order  to  protect 
himself  if  he  sees  that  he  is  really  to  stand  a  loss 
on  a  forced  sale,  he  buys  in  the  first  mortgage." 
Caleb  did  not,  however,  tell  her  that  he  could  not 
protect  himself  in  this  way;  that  he  did  not  have 
ready  money  enough  to  buy  in  the  first  mortgage. 

"If  you  are  sure,  Caleb,  that  you  are  taking  no 
chances  and  if  you  think  this  the  best  way  out  of 


192  CALEB  ABBOTT 

our  difficulties,  I  will  do  as  you  say.  I  put  perfect 
trust  in  you,  Caleb." 

"Thank  you,  Hilda,  it  is  good  of  you  to  say 
so.  I  hope  I  can  prove  faithful  to  the  trust." 

"I  am  sure  you  can,"  she  replied.  "How  good 
you  are  to  Father." 

"Your  father,  Hilda?"  said  Caleb,  coming  over 
to  where  she  stood  by  the  mantel,  "not  your 
father,  Hilda, — but  to  you !  Could  I  see  this  beau 
tiful  home  taken  from  you?  Could  I  see  all  these 
tokens  and  knickknacks  sold  at  public  auction  to 
strangers?  Could  I  see  you  cast  adrift?  You, 
who  were  brought  up  in  wealth  and  abundance? 
No,  no,  Hilda,  every  article  in  this  house  is  dear 
to  you,  and  being  dear  to  you  it  is  dear  to  me. 
Hilda,  dear,  I  have  not  got  to  tell  you  how  I  love 
you !  You  know  it  already ;  you  must  have  known 
it  all  these  years." 

"Oh!  don't  Caleb!"  she  cried.  "Don't!  not 
now ;  wait,  wait  until — " 

"Until  when,  Hilda  dear?  Have  I  not  been 
waiting  all  these  years?  Have  I  not  been  waiting 
ever  since  we  were  school  children  together  for 
this  day?  For  the  day  when  I  could  ask  you  to 


CALEB  ABBOTT  193 

be  my  wife.  Why  wait  longer?  You  will  never 
need  a  protector  as  you  do  now.  Let  me  be  your 
protector;  your  husband!  Tell  me,  Hilda,"  he 
pleaded,  "do  you  love  another?" 

"No,  I  love  no  one,"  she  answered.     "No  one" 
— and  in  a  low  voice,  "but  you." 

"Hilda!"  He  had  taken  her  in  his  arms  now, 
into  his  great  strong  arms,  and  she  nestled  there, 
trembling  like  a  frightened  bird.  Caleb  had 
waited  for  years  for  this  day,  hoping  always  that 
no  one  could  steal  her  heart  until  he  would  make 
his  way  in  the  world :  he  was  already  fairly  started 
on  the  road  to  position  and  wealth.  He  knew  she 
loved  him ;  he  knew  she  had  loved  him  all  these 
years;  she,  the  dearest,  most  beautiful  girl  in  the 
whole  country.  Long  he  held  her  in  his  embrace 
while  he  rained  kisses  upon  her  lips,  her  cheek,  her 
hair.  At  last  Hilda  sobbed,  "Not  now,  Caleb. 
No,  not  yet.  You  have  my  love:  let  that  be 
enough.  I  can't  marry  you  while  in  our  present 
position.  I  can't  blast  all  your  hopes  for  the 
future.  Caleb,  I  love  you  too  well  for  that.  In 
the  future ;  in  the  years  to  come  if  you  still  love 
me,  come  to  me  again."  She  was  crying  now. 


194  CALEB  ABBOTT 

Caleb  drew  her  head  down  on  his  broad  shoulder, 
while  he  stroked  her  hair  and  told  her  over  again, 
the  old,  old  story.  That  he  had  hoped  and  prayed, 
too,  aye,  prayed  that  one  day  she  should  be  his, 
that  he  had  worked  and  struggled  for  her  alone, 
and  now  that  she  was  in  trouble  and  distress  should 
he  wait?  "No,  no!  Hilda!  Give  me  your  answer 
now.  It  must  be  'yes.'  It  shall  be  'yes'!"  And 
Hilda?  Did  she  say  "yes?"  Could  she  help  say 
ing  it? 

When  Caleb  at  last  bade  her  good  night  the  sun 
had  long  since  gone  down  in  a  blaze  of  glory  leav 
ing  a  soft  and  mellow  twilight.  Caleb  strolled 
home  with  a  gladness  in  his  heart,  whistling  mer 
rily  for  companion's  sake,  to  tell  the  dearest 
mother  in  the  world  that  he  had  won  the  sweetest 
and  most  beautiful  woman  in  all  Rushton  for  his 
wife. 

£  $  £  $  * 

Town  meeting  day  had  arrived,  the  greatest  day 
of  the  year  in  a  country  village;  the  one  day  in 
the  year  when  the  entire  male  population  turns 
out.  This  is  the  day  when  the  thrifty  farmer  takes 
a  day  off  for  a  holiday.  He  feels  that  he  is  entitled 


CALEB  ABBOTT  195 

to  this  day,  no  matter  how  much  there  is  to  be 
done  at  home.  The  town  needs  him  there;  per 
haps  to  save  the  town !  They  can't  get  along  with 
out  him.  Silas,  and  Peleg,  Reuben  and  Zeke, 
Deacon  and  Parson,  in  fact  all  the  citizens  of  the 
township  meet  together;  and  gossip,  too.  The 
meeting  begins.  Some  one  jumps  up  and  shouts, 
"Mr.  Moderator!"  and  then  he  sits  down  again 
feeling  that  he  has  saved  the  day.  When  Peleg 
arrives  at  home  he  tells  his  good  wife,  Dorcus, 
that  if  it  hadn't  been  for  him  the  town  would  have 
appropriated  a  hundred  dollars  toward  forming  a 
Board  of  Health.  Silas  boasts  how  he  made  the 
best  speech  of  the  day  when  he  "shut  'em  off  on 
raisin'  the  road  agent's  pay."  Each  thinks  he  does 
his  duty.  Town  meeting  is  the  beginning  of  many 
a  political  career. 

Caleb  himself  was  just  starting  on  his  career, 
and  he  felt  it  his  duty  to  be  on  hand  early  with  the 
rest  to  stay  all  day.  Not  that  he  was  afraid  of  the 
outcome  of  the  election.  He  had  been  nominated 
for  selectman  without  opposition.  He  was  practi 
cally  assured  of  being  elected  a  member  of  the 
Honorable  Board.  But  there  were  many  articles 


196  CALEB  ABBOTT 

in  the  town  warrant  in  which  he  was  interested. 
Caleb  spoke  well ;  he  possessed  one  of  those  clear, 
deep  penetrating  voices  which  carries  weight  with 
an  audience,  and  he  knew  there  would  be  much 
opposition  to  some  of  the  articles.  One  of  these 
articles  read  as  follows :  "Article  Four : — To  see 
if  the  town  will  build  a  concrete  sidewalk,  on  the 
westerly  side  of  main  street,  beginning  at  the  new 
depot  and  running  northerly,  six  hundred  feet 
more  or  less  to  the  junction  of  main  street  and  the 
village  centre  and  to  appropriate  money  for  the 
same."  Caleb  himself  had  this  article  inserted  in 
the  warrant.  In  a  bright  and  snappy  speech  he 
hoped  the  town  would  see  fit  to  build  the  side 
walk.  He  told  them  that  this,  the  proposed  side 
walk,  was  much  needed ;  that  it  would  be  used  in 
fact  by  every  inhabitant  in  town ;  that  it  passed  by 
the  two  new  blocks  recently  erected,  in  which  were 
located  the  principal  stores  and  offices  of  the  town, 
as  well  as  by  the  post  office ;  and  that  it  was  also 
the  direct  and  travelled  way  to  the  depot.  No 
sooner  had  Caleb  sat  down,  then  half  a  dozen 
arose  with  a  shout  of  "Mr.  Moderator!"  The 


CALEB  ABBOTT  197 

moderator,  however,  announced  that  Silas  Hobbs 
had  the  floor;  and  Silas  Hobbs  had  his  say. 

"Mr.  Moderator!"  he  began,  "I'm  agin'  city  im 
provements.  I'm  agin'  spending  money  for  city 
improvements!  I  want  to  know,  Mr.  Moderator, 
what  we  farmers  want  of  concrete  sidewalks? 
Our  fathers,  an'  our  grandfathers  'afore  us,  warn't 
afraid  to  walk  on  ploughed  ground,  an'  I  ain't 
nuther.  I'd  sooner  the  town  would  'propriate  the 
money  to  stamp  out  hog  cholera." 

"Mr.  Moderator,"  replied  Caleb,  "I  am  sorry 
Mr.  Hobbs  objects  to  concrete  sidewalks,  and  pre 
fers  ploughed  ground.  I  think  myself  that  his  feet 
might  get  sore  treading  concrete  sidewalks ;  they 
are  not  as  soft  as  ploughed  ground.  But  then  he 
would  get  used  to  it  in  time.  If  he  missed  the 
rocks  and  stubble  when  on  the  sidewalk,  he  could 
carry  a  few  stones  in  his  pockets  and  drop  them 
ahead  of  himself  to  stub  his  toe  upon  and  remind 
him  of  old  times." 

The  laugh  was  on  Silas.  "And  I  was  not  aware, 
Mr.  Moderator,  that  Mr.  Hobbs  was  afflicted  with 
hog  cholera."  The  laugh  was  again  on  Silas. 
"Pardon  me,  Mr.  Moderator,  perhaps  I  should 
have  said  that  I  was  not  aware  that  Mr.  Hobbs' 


198  CALEB  ABBOTT 

hogs  were  afflicted  with  hog  cholera."  Up  jumped 
Peleg  Bronsdon;  Silas  Hobbs  was  thoroughly 
quashed. 

"Mr.  Moderator,  I  don't  think  anyone's  got  any 
right  to  come  here  and  accuse  Silas  Hobbs  of  hav 
ing  hog  cholera.  We  all  know  Brother  Hobbs; 
an'  we  all  know  his  hogs.  The  question  is,  shall 
the  town  build  this  sidewalk?  I  say  no!"  he  thun 
dered,  "a  hundred  times,  no!  As  Silas  says,  our 
fathers  an'  our  grandfathers  have  walked  through 
mud  an'  slush  over  this  same  sidewalk  for  a  hun 
dred  years,  and  if  'twas  good  'nough  for  them,  it's 
good  'nough  for  me.  We're  getting  a  lot  of  new 
fangled  notions  in  town ;  an'  the  next  thing  they'll 
want  will  be  'lectric  lights  or  some  other  city 
improvement." 

Caleb  answered  Peleg's  argument  and  several 
others.  When  the  question  was  at  last  put  and  the 
hands  counted,  Caleb  had  won.  The  town  of 
Rushton  entered  a  new  career  with  its  first  public 
improvement.  Caleb  was  also  elected  selectman, 
and  not  only  was  he  elected,  but  elected  by  the 
highest  vote  of  the  three,  which  according  to  rules 
previously  established,  made  him  chairman  of  the 
board. 


CHAPTER  XL 

THE    PASSING    OF    SHYLOCK    WHITNEY. 

During  the  past  winter  Doctor  Sherman  had 
been  very  busy.  There  was  a  great  deal  of  sick 
ness  in  town,  as  there  usually  is  around  hog-kill 
ing  time,  when  the  under-fed  farmers  gorge  them 
selves  on  pork  as  long  as  it  lasts  and  then  wonder 
what's  the  matter  with  them.  Dr.  Sherman's  skill 
was  well  known  and  his  fame  fast  spreading;  he 
was  frequently  called  away  on  some  difficult  case, 
or  in  consultation  with  some  other  physician. 

Old  Dr.  Higgins  had  given  up  his  practice 
entirely.  "I  suppose  I  have  money  enough  to  last 
Betsie  and  me  as  long  as  we  live,  and  have  a  little 
left  over,"  he  told  Dr.  Sherman.  "I  am  getting 
lazy,  too,  and  I  don't  see  any  reason  why  I  should 
be  going  out,  when  I  have  to  call  you  in,  anyhow. 
You  seem  to  have  got  the  confidence  of  all  the 
people  hereabouts,  and  so  I  guess  I  will  retire  and 


200  CALEB  ABBOTT 

enjoy  life  for  the  rest  of  my  time.  I  never  thought 
I  could  enjoy  life  with  that  confounded  rheuma 
tism  working  all  over  me,  but  now  that  you  have 
cured  me  of  it,  Sherman,  I  think  I  can  take  some 
pleasure,  poking  around  the  garden  and  calling  on 
old  friends." 

"I  heard  a  joke  once,"  replied  Dr.  Sherman,  "in 
regard  to  rheumatism,  that  I  thought  pretty  good. 
It  seems  there  was  an  old  man  who  had  suffered 
for  years  with  rheumatism  and  had  tried  every 
known  remedy  without  obtaining  any  relief.  One 
day  he  was  sitting  by  the  window  suffering  from 
pain  more  than  usual,  when  a  sudden  twinge 
caused  him  to  jump.  He  kicked  his  leg  clear 
through  the  window,  and  the  pane  was  gone." 

"That's  good!"  roared  the  old  doctor.  "No 
wonder  your  patients  get  well,  with  your  bright, 
sunny  ways  and  always  a  pleasant  word.  I  believe 
these  count  for  more  cures  than  your  medicine." 

"Perhaps  so,"  replied  Dr.  Sherman,  "but  there 
is  one  subject  I  am  serious  about,  and  that  is  con 
sumption.  There  must  be  a  cure  for  it,  if  it  could 
only  be  found ;  and  I  mean  to  discover  it  if  there  is 
such  a  cure.  Strange  that,  with  all  our  science  and 


CALEB  ABBOTT  201 

new  discoveries,  someone  has  not  yet  found  a  cure 
for  this  dread  disease." 

"Yes,  it  is  strange,"  answered  Dr.  Higgins.  "I 
think  myself  that  it  will  be  discovered  some  time, 
but  it  won't  be  in  my  day,  and  I  am  afraid  not  in 
yours,  Sherman." 

Dr.  Sherman,  though  busy,  found  time  to  call 
frequently  at  Mr.  Upton's  new  home,  where  he 
was  always  welcome.  Mr.  Upton  had  taken  a 
great  fancy  to  him  and  Marjorie  herself  seemed 
pleased  to  see  him.  He  knew  that  he  was  making 
little  if  any  progress  in  his  love  affair.  But  he 
hoped  against  hope  that  the  day  would  come  when 
she  would  forget  Caleb  and  turn  to  him.  It  had 
been  a  terrible  blow  to  Marjorie  when  she  heard 
of  Caleb's  engagement  to  Hilda.  She  was  glad  for 
Hilda's  sake  that  she  had  found  such  a  true  and 
noble  love;  she  had  tried,  moreover,  to  make  her 
self  think  that  she  was  fast  forgetting  her  own  love 
for  Caleb.  But  now  that  she  knew  he  was  lost  to 
her,  she  felt  that  she  still  loved  him,  although  she 
tried  bravely  to  hide  her  feelings  from  her  father 
and  the  world.  She  succeeded  in  deceiving  all, 
except  Dr.  Sherman.  He  knew  that  way  down 


202  CALEB  ABBOTT 

deep  in  her  heart  she  still  loved  Caleb,  and  it 
caused  him  great  pain.  Why  could  he  not  have 
the  love  of  this  beautiful  girl?  He  would  have  it 
he  vowed.  In  time  she  must  forget.  He  would 
wait.  Yes,  he  would  wait  for  years  for  the  love  of 
such  a  girl  as  Marjorie.  But  would  Marjorie  live 
for  years?  There  were  the  seeds  of  that  dread 
disease  in  her  system.  He  knew  it,  although  he 
tried  hard  to  deceive  himself  into  believing  other 
wise.  But  her  listless  ways,  her  pale  cheeks,  and 
those  blue  veins !  Occasionally  he  had  noticed  the 
flush  on  her  cheek,  which  was  not  the  flush  of 
health,  and  lately  she  had  a  dry  cough  that  every 
time  he  heard  it  caused  a  pain  in  himself  like  a 
knife  wound.  Dr.  Sherman  had  advised  Mr.  Upton 
to  take  a  trip  to  the  south  or  west  the  past  winter, 
but  Marjorie  did  not  wish  to  leave  her  beautiful 
home  and  they  had  remained  in  Rushton. 

One  day  in  early  spring,  after  the  doctor  had 
called  at  Mr.  Upton's,  Marjorie  herself  accom 
panied  him  to  the  door.  It  was  one  of  those  cold, 
raw  days  of  easterly  winds  and  drizzling  rain  that 
cut  like  a  knife  and  seem  to  penetrate  everywhere. 
The  doctor  was  just  bidding  her  goodbye  and  ad- 


CALEB  ABBOTT  203 

vising  her  to  stay  indoors  today,  when  she  started 
to  reply,  but  a  coughing  fit,  more  violent  than  he 
had  ever  heard  her  have,  seized  her.  Hastily  rais 
ing  her  handkerchief  to  her  lips,  a  fine  gauzy  affair, 
the  doctor's  quick  eye  discerned  a  small  dark  red 
stain. 

"Goodbye,  Miss  Upton,"  he  said  abruptly,  and 
strode  down  the  driveway.  "Oh,  God!"  he  cried 
to  himself,  "she  must  not  die !  She  must  not  die ! 
Oh !  this  fearful,  deadly,  lingering  disease,  that 
baffles  all  the  medical  fraternity!  There  must  be 
some  cure:  there  shall  be  some  cure  for  it,  and  I 
will  find  it.  I  will  devote  all  my  time  to  it.  It 
must  be  found  quickly,  too.  Oh,  Marjorie!"  he 
wailed,  "wait!  Give  me  time,  my  darling.  I  will 
find  it,  only  give  me  time."  On  he  strode  down 
the  drive,  through  the  lane,  and  along  the  high 
way,  the  rain  beating  on  his  face,  the  winds  howl 
ing  about  him,  thinking,  dreading,  praying.  He 
was  like  a  mad  man.  He  observed  nothing, 
thought  of  nothing,  except  Marjorie  and  the  awful 
disease  which  was  sapping  her  beautiful  young  life 

away. 

***** 


204  CALEB  ABBOTT 

Rushton  was  indeed  booming.  The  new  blocks 
were  finished,  and  were  an  immediate  addition  to 
an  attractive  town.  In  one  of  the  blocks  were 
located  the  new  Boston  Branch  Grocery  store  and 
the  new  market.  Cow  meat  was  now  a  relic  of 
by-gone  days  in  Rushton.  A  millinery  store  was 
on  the  second  floor  with  the  offices  of  various  busi 
ness  concerns.  The  Rushton  Board  of  Trade 
occupied  one;  the  Real  Estate  syndicate  another; 
the  Rushton  Granite  Company  still  another,  with 
Jack  Stevens  for  manager.  The  large  front  office 
was  occupied  by  Caleb,  who  had  now  his  shingle 
out,  a  new  handsome  sign  reading  as  follows: 
"Caleb  Abbott,  Attorney  at  Law,  Justice  of  the 
Peace.  Notary  Public,  Real  Estate,  Insurance  and 
Mortgages."  In  the  other  block  was  a  new  dry 
goods  store,  and  the  post  office.  The  greater  part 
of  the  second  floor  was  taken  up  with  a  fine  large 
hall,  with  its  dressing  rooms,  which  was  soon  to  be 
occupied  by  a  new  lodge  of  Odd  Fellows.  Old 
Skinner's  leather  cart  was  a  thing  of  the  past  in 
Rushton.  He  had  located  now  in  Weed  Village, 
where  they  still  hankered  for  tuberculosis  cows 
and  bob  veal.  Poor  Lucinda  French  had  retired 


CALEB  ABBOTT  205 

on  her  pension.  No  more  would  she  comment  on 
Cynthia  McDonald's  love  letters.  By  the  way, 
Cynthia  was  long  since  married  to  her  "best  feller 
down  to  Manchester."  She  had  gone  down  there 
to  work  in  the  mills,  to  support  him.  Old 
Kettchum  still  "hung  out,"  but  the  days  of  his 
hotel  were  numbered.  A  fine,  new,  modern  build 
ing  was  now  in  the  process  of  construction  for  a 
hotel.  Poor  Kettchum  had  been  soaked  fifty 
dollars  twice  within  a  year  by  the  L.  P.  O.  G.  T. 
League,  who  were  getting  poor  and  being  in  need 
of  money  saw  a  good  opportunity  of  getting  it. 
Hiram  still  came  around  with  fish.  Rushton  could 
not  yet  get  along  without  Hiram,  his  genial  smile, 
and  pleasant  word  for  all.  Libby,  the  stage  driver, 
was  driving  the  depot  carriage,  and  had  bought  a 
new  horse  which  he  said  was  fast.  "Could  go  in 
side  a  mile  in  three  minutes."  The  concrete  side 
walk  had  been  built,  with  edgestone  from  the 
Rushton  Granite  Company.  In  fact  the  sidewalk 
was  used  by  everyone  in  town  except  by  Silas 
Hobbs,  who  still  walked  in  the  middle  of  the  street 
on  his  way  to  and  from  the  post  office.  "I've 
never  had  a  corn  or  bunion  yet ;  and  by  gosh !  I 


206  CALEB  ABBOTT 

ain't  agoin'  to,  if  I  can  help  it.  So,  I'll  keep  off 
the  darned,  old,  concrete  sidewalk,"  he  remarked. 
Through  Caleb,  Rushton  boasted  of  an  ice  plant, 
perhaps  the  only  one  of  its  kind  in  New  Hamp 
shire.  One  night  during  a  meeting  of  the  Board 
of  Trade  Caleb  proposed  starting  an  ice  plant  for 
the  benefit  of  all.  He  would  allow  a  house  to  be 
built  upon  his  land  on  the  shore  of  the  little  pond 
which  was  made  by  the  dams  at  the  mill ;  he  would 
furnish  lumber  at  cost  to  build  the  same.  He 
promised  the  sawdust,  and  allowed  the  use  of  his 
horses  free.  Then  he  proposed  forming  a  com 
pany  to  cover  the  cost,  which  would  be  in  the 
neighborhood  of  three  hundred  dollars,  by  issuing 
shares,  twenty  shares  at  ten  dollars  each,  to  be 
preferred  stock,  and  twenty  shares  at  five  dollars 
each  as  common  stock.  The  preferred  stock  was 
to  be  issued  to  those  who  did  not  care  to  or  were 
not  able  to  work  getting  in  the  ice,  and  they  were 
to  be  paid  for  in  cash.  The  twenty  shares  at  five 
dollars  a  share  were  to  be  issued  to  the  middle  and 
poorer  classes,  who  were  allowed  to  work  out  the 
price,  at  the  rate  of  one  dollar  and  fifty  cents  a  day ; 
or  two  and  a  half  days'  work  for  their  five-dollar 


CALEB  ABBOTT  207 

share.  They  could  do  this  work  either  in  the  con 
struction  of  the  house  or  in  the  cutting  or  getting 
in  of  the  ice.  Each  holder  of  stock  could  obtain 
ice  free  for  their  own  family  use.  To  those  who 
wished  ice,  and  had  no  shares  in  the  company,  ice 
was  to  be  sold  at  the  rate  of  fifteen  cents  a  hun 
dred  and  this  money  was  to  be  the  dividend  each 
year.  As  there  would  be  no  cost  after  the  house 
was  built  there  must  be  a  dividend  each  year. 
Caleb's  plan  met  with  instant  approval  and  the 
plant  was  established.  A  good  plan  for  some 
other  small  village  to  adopt. 

Other  buildings  were  being  erected  all  over  the 
village.  The  Granite  Company  was  doing  a  big 
business,  employing  several  hands.  The  pulp  mill 
was  running  overtime.  The  directors  had  put  in  a 
dynamo  and  were  supplied  with  electric  lights. 
Next  year  there  would  probably  be  an  article  in 
the  town  warrant  to  raise  the  money  for  electric 
lights.  Caleb's  saw-mill  was  pushed  to  its  utmost 
capacity.  A  new  woolen  mill  had  been  built  just 
below  Rushton,  whose  employees  lived  mostly  in 
the  town.  Rushton  was  indeed  fast  putting  on  the 
ways  of  a  country  city.  The  town  was  growing 


208  CALEB  ABBOTT 

fast,  and  Caleb  was  growing  with  it,  and  helping 
it  grow. 

Cyrus  Whitney  had  lingered  all  winter,  growing 
weaker  and  weaker.  He  seemed  to  hang  on  to 
life  as  he  had  hung  on  to  everything  else  he  had 
gotten  hold  of.  One  afternoon  when  it  seemed  as 
if  he  could  not  live  through  the  day  Hilda  came  in 
and  sat  by  his  side.  Poor  Cyrus!  the  hard,  cold 
man  of  the  world  at  last  realized  that  there  was 
something  else  to  live  for  besides  money.  Strok 
ing  his  daughter's  hair  he  said : 

"Hilda,  I  think  you  had  better  send  for  the 
parson  tomorrow.  I  never  believed  much  in 
church,  but  I  guess  there  is  something  in  it  after 
all.  Anyway,  I  know  you  will  feel  better  to  have 
him  come.  Not  that  it  would  do  me  much  good," 
he  added,  as  if  ashamed  to  give  in.  "But  perhaps 
it's  better  so.  I  have  been  called  a  hard  man, 
Hilda,  but  your  poor  old  Father  never  did  a  crime. 
I  guess  I've  lived  pretty  near  the  ten  command 
ments  even  if  I  didn't  go  to  church.  I  have  always 
been  honest,  Hilda.  I  have  never  cheated.  I've 
always  lived  within  the  law,  and  if  I  have  charged 
some  a  pretty  high  rate  of  interest  that's  their 


CALEB  ABBOTT  209 

fault.  They  never  would  have  come  to  Old  Shy- 
lock  for  money  if  they  could  have  got  it  anywhere 
else." 

"No,  Father,  I  don't  think  you  have  broken  any 
laws.  Perhaps  it  would  be  better  to  have  the 
parson  come  over.  I  hope  you  will  be  with  us  a 
long  time  yet.  But  it  can  do  no  harm  to  have  him 
come." 

"Hilda,  after  he  has  been  here  you  might  send 
over  a  barrel  of  potatoes  to  the  parsonage;  'taters 
are  high  now,  and  I  guess  he  can  use  them  all 
right.  We've  got  enough  to  carry  us  through." 

"Yes,  Father,  I  think  he  would  appreciate 
them." 

"And,  Hilda,  I'm  rather  glad  now  that  you  and 
Caleb  and  the  Upton  girl  and  the  doctor  have  kept 
up  that  Thanksgiving  business.  I  suppose  there 
are  some  people  that  find  it  hard  to  get  along.  By 
the  way,  Hilda,  I  haven't  seen  Caleb  lately.  He 
ain't  away,  is  he?" 

"Oh,  no!  Father,"  answered  Hilda.  "There  is 
nothing  for  him  to  come  for  now.  Besides  he  is 
very  busy.  If  you  want  him  I  will  send  for  him  to 
come." 


210  CALEB  ABBOTT 

"Well,  I  wish  you  would.  Tell  him  to  drop  in 
in  a  day  or  two,  I  would  like  to  see  him.  I  like 
that  boy.  He's  a  wonder,  and  already  a  selectman. 
He  makes  me  think  of  myself  in  my  younger  day. 
They  used  to  call  me  a  hustler  then,  though  I 
guess  the  boy  ain't  quite  as  close  as  I  used  to  be." 

"No,"  replied  Hilda,  "I  have  heard  it  said  that 
he  is  very  liberal." 

"I  often  thought,"  continued  her  father,  "that 
he  liked  this  little  girl  of  mine  pretty  well  and  that 
this  little  girl  used  to  like  him.  I  rather  hoped 
lately  that,  well  that  there  might  be  something 
in  it." 

"Would  you  be  pleased  if  there  was,  Father?" 
asked  Hilda  sweetly. 

"My  dear  girl,  nothing  would  please  me  more. 
I  could  die  happy  then  if  I  knew  my  daughter 
would  be  taken  care  of  by  such  a  big,  strong  and 
honest  fellow  as  Caleb." 

"Father,"  Hilda  spoke  gently,  "Caleb  has  asked 
me  to  be  his  wife." 

"And  you,  Hilda?  You  haven't  refused  him?" 
anxiously  asked  her  father. 

"No,  but  neither  have  I  really  promised.     But 


CALEB  ABBOTT  211 

there  is  an  understanding  between  us,"  replied 
Hilda,  blushing. 

"Thank  God,  I  can  die  happy  now.  Hilda,  I 
want  some  singing  when  I  am  being  laid  away, 
and  a  plain  funeral.  If  there  is  anything  left  after 
I  am  gone,  or  if  those  stocks  should  ever  pay,  I 
shouldn't  mind  if  you  should  give  something  to 
the  poor." 

"Yes,  father,  but  you  are  getting  tired.  Let  me 
fix  your  pillow,  then  you  must  go  to  sleep."  So 
Hilda,  having  deftly  arranged  the  pillows,  and 
kissed  her  father  goodnight,  stole  softly  out  of  the 
room. 

The  next  day  the  parson  came  over.  He  came 
none  too  soon.  A  few  days  later  when  Hilda 
went  in  to  see  her  father,  he  lay  asleep  with  a  smile 
on  his  face  and  her  picture  in  his  hand.  She  stole 
softly  to  the  bed  to  draw  the  clothes  closer  around 
him,  accidentally  touching  his  hand.  It  was  so 
cold  that  she  started  with  a  little  cry,  and  leaning 
over  him  she  whispered,  "Father!"  She  could  not 
hear  him  breathe.  Could  it  be  possible;  was  he 
dead? 


212  CALEB  ABBOTT 

Yes,  Cyrus  Whitney  would  breathe  no  more. 
His  weak  heart  had  refused  to  work  longer,  and  he 
had  gone  to  his  God.  In  the  world  beyond  he 
would  be  judged.  Hilda  drew  the  sheet  over  his 
face,  and  hurried  out  to  tell  Mary  to  go  to  Mrs. 
Abbott's  at  once  for  Caleb.  She  then  went  to  her 
own  room,  there  to  be  alone  with  her  grief. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

MR.    UPTON    BECOMES    YOUNG    AGAIN. 

The  day  after  the  funeral  Mr.  Upton  had  driven 
over  after  Hilda.  "Marjorie  wants  you  to  come 
and  visit  her,"  he  had  said.  "She  is  not  feeling 
very  bright,  and  she  wishes  to  see  you.  It  must  be 
lonely  here  for  you  now."  Hilda  went  back  with 
him,  where  amidst  new  scenes  and  with  Marjorie, 
her  dear  friend,  she  could  forget  her  new,  keen 
sorrow. 

Mr.  Upton  had  been  a  frequent  caller  at  the 
Abbott's  and  although  he  pretended  to  run  over 
to  see  Caleb  he  usually  called  when  he  knew  Caleb 
would  be  away.  As  Marjorie  had  Hilda  for  com 
pany  now  he  thought  he  would  run  in  for  a 
moment.  Caleb  was  not  at  home.  Still  he  did  not 
seem  to  feel  disappointed,  neither  was  he  in  a 
hurry  to  go.  It  was  about  nine  o'clock  on  that 
bright  June  day,  and  the  Widow  Abbott  had  just 


214  CALEB  ABBOTT 

finished  her  morning's  work.  She  was  busily 
engaged  in  putting  the  milk  pans  in  their  rack 
outside  the  door,  when  Mr.  Upton  came  into  the 
yard. 

"Good  morning,  Mrs.  Abbott,"  he  said.  "Is 
Caleb  at  home?" 

"No,"  she  answered  with  a  smile.  "Don't  you 
remember  he  told  you  yesterday  that  he  was 
obliged  to  run  down  to  the  county  building  today 
on  a  legal  matter?" 

"Oh!  so  he  did.  I  am  getting  very  forgetful," 
he  said,  as  he  seated  himself  on  the  bench  near  the 
door.  "You  are  always  working,  Mrs.  Abbott," 
he  added.  "Don't  you  ever  get  tired  of  work?" 

"Oh,  no !  Why  should  I  ?  I  have  always 
worked.  I  don't  have  any  too  much  to  do  now, 
just  enough  to  keep  me  busy."  She  had  just  set 
another  pan  in  the  rack,  which  was  so  bright  and 
shiny  that  it  reflected  her  face  almost  as  well  as  a 
looking  glass.  Mr.  Upton  sat  with  one  leg  care 
lessly  dangling  over  the  bench,  sitting  in  such  a 
way  that  he  could  see  Mrs.  Abbott  without  her 
knowing  that  he  was  looking  at  her.  He  sat 
studying  her  as  if  she  were  a  young  girl  of  eigh- 


CALEB  ABBOTT  215 

teen,  commenting  to  himself,  "She's  plump,  and 
her  arm  is  clear  and  pretty  yet."  He  thought, 
"There  are  not  many  lines  of  care  on  her  face,  her 
hair,  though  nearly  white,  is  very  becoming 
around  such  a  healthy  face.  I  can  still  see  the 
roguish  twinkle  in  her  eye,  too !  I'll  bet  if  I  chal 
lenged  her  for  a  race  now  she'd  do  it  the  same  as 
she  used  to  at  school ;  and  she'd  beat  me,  too !  I 
wonder  if  she'd  take  the  stump  for  a  'teedle-bend- 
os,'  if  there  were  any  ice,"  and  he  laughed  aloud. 

"Will  you  tell  me,  Mr.  Upton,"  she  asked,  "what 
you  find  to  laugh  about?" 

"Yes,  I  will,  Mattie,  excuse  me,  Mrs.  Abbott,  I 
was  thinking  of  that  day  at  school  when  you 
stumped  me  to  go  across  the  pond,  teedle-bend-os, 
and  how  you  got  across  all  right,  and  how  I  went 
through  up  to  my  waist,  and  was  wondering  if 
you  would  stump  me  now." 

Mrs.  Abbott  was  laughing  herself  now.  "So 
you  remember  that,  do  you,  Sa — Mr.  Upton?  I 
am  afraid  the  ice  would  have  to  be  pretty  thick  to 
hold  you  up.  But  I  often  think  of  those  days  and 
wish  I  could  live  them  over." 


216  CALEB  ABBOTT 

"Do  you  think  of  me,"  he  asked,  "when  think 
ing  of  those  days?" 

"Of  course  I  do,"  she  replied.  "Were  you  not 
always  there?  How  could  I  think  of  those  days 
without  thinking  of  you,  too  ?"  The  conversation 
was  drifting  dangerously  near  something  like 
sentiment.  Mr.  Upton  felt  bashful.  How  could 
he  ask  her  to  marry  him?  He  had  made  up  his 
mind  to  ask  her  to  be  his  wife  some  time  ago,  yet 
he  always  went  home  saying  to  himself,  "Well,  I'll 
have  it  over  with,  tomorrow." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do,  Mrs.  Abbott,"  he 
inquired,  "if  I  am  not  too  personal,  when  Caleb 
gets  married?" 

"Oh,"  she  replied  with  a  sigh,  "I  suppose  I  shall 
run  the  farm  just  the  same;  our  man,  John,  is  a 
good  worker,  and  I  guess  we  can  get  along.  Caleb 
wants  me  to  live  with  him,  and  insists  that  I  do. 
But  I  believe  in  letting  the  young  folks  have  their 
own  way  when  they  get  married.  I  don't  believe 
in  'mothers-in-law !' ' 

"The  idea  of  your  being  in  the  way !"  said  Mr. 
Upton.  "They  would  be  glad  to  have  you  with 
them." 


CALEB  ABBOTT  217 

"Yes,  I  really  think  they  would,  but  I  have  set 
opinions  on  the  mother-in-law  business.  No  mat 
ter  how  pleasant  and  well  liked  you  are  before, 
after  marriage  the  mother-in-law  is  always  in  the 
way." 

"Sit  down,  Mattie,"  he  said,  "I  have  a  proposi 
tion  to  make  to  you."  Mrs.  Abbott  came  and  sat 
down  beside  him.  "How  would  you  like  to  be  my 
housekeeper?"  he  blurted  out. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Upton,  I  could  not  be  that;  Caleb 
would  not  let  me  work  for  pay,  even  if  I  wanted 
to,  and  there  is  no  necessity  for  it,  either." 

"I  don't  mean  that.  I  didn't  mean  to  pay  you." 
Still  that  wasn't  just  the  way  he  meant  to  put  it, 
either. 

"Didn't  mean  to  pay  me !"  she  exclaimed  indig 
nantly.  "What  did  you  think,  Samuel  Upton? 
That  I  was  homeless,  and  you  simply  meant  to 
offer  me  a  home?" 

"Yes,  that's  what  I  meant,"  he  answered.  "I 
simply  offered  you  a  home." 

"Well,  I  am  surprised,"  she  said  rising.  "I 
really — I  feel  it  an  insult,  Mr.  Upton.  I  don't 
know  what  to  say  to  you,  but  Caleb  would  be  very 


218  CALEB  ABBOTT 

much  provoked  if  he  knew  that  you  offered  me  a 
home." 

"You  don't  understand,  Mattie,  I  mean — I 
mean — " 

"Well,  what  do  you  mean  ?" 

"I  want  to  give  you  a  home.  I  want  you  to  be 
my  wife."  There !  it  was  over,  and  he  felt  relieved. 

"Your  wife  ?  You  mean  that  an  old  woman  like 
me,  a  hard-working  country  woman  like  me,  mis 
tress  in  your  grand  house?  Samuel  Upton,  you 
are  crazy!"  Still  she  felt  flattered  and  came  and 
sat  beside  him  again. 

"No,  Mattie,"  he  exclaimed,  "I'm  not  crazy.  I 
love  you  as  well  as  a  man  of  my  years  can  love. 
You  are  not  an  old  woman.  You  are  not  as  old 
as  I,  and  I  feel  young  yet.  I  can  give  you  all  there 
is  to  want  for  in  this  world,  and  can  make  you 
happy,  I  know.  You  won't  have  to  work:  only 
to  superintend  the  servants.  And  Marjorie  loves 
you  as  she  would  her  own  mother.  She  is  not  very 
well,"  he  added  sadly.  "She  needs  a  mother's  care. 
Perhaps  I  am  selfish  in  asking  you,  but  I  want  you 
not  only  for  my  sake  but  partly  for  Marjorie's, 
too." 


CALEB  ABBOTT  219 

"I  don't  know  what  to  say,"  she  answered.  "I 
love  Marjorie,  and  I  would  like  to  be  with  her  and 
help  her  back  to  health.  But  this  is  so  sudden.  I 
would  like  to  think  it  over." 

"Why  think  it  over,  Mattie?"  he  said,  taking 
one  of  her  hands  in  his.  "You  usually  think 
quickly.  Why  not  give  me  an  answer  now?" 

"I  don't  know— I— I—" 

"There  now,"  he  said,  "don't  cry,"  and  reaching 
down  he  kissed  her. 

"Don't,  Sam,"  she  exclaimed,  "don't!  There 
comes  John ;  he  must  have  seen  you !"  In  fact 
John,  who  was  just  coming  around  the  barn,  did 
see  them,  but  John  was  wise  and  he  was  human, 
too,  so  he  sneaked  back  again  out  of  sight. 

"Did  John  see  me,  do  you  think?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  he  did.  I  know  he  did.  How  could  he 
have  helped  it?" 

"Well,  I  am  glad  he  did,  because  you  will  have 
to  say  'yes'  now.  How  would  you  feel  when  John 
tells  somebody  that  he  saw  Mr.  Upton  kissing  Mrs. 
Abbott  out  in  the  back  yard?  That  will  never  do 
to  get  around  the  village,  will  it?" 

"Now  you  are  taking  a  mean  advantage  of  me," 


220  CALEB  ABBOTT 

answered  Mrs.  Abbott.     "I'll  have  to  give  in,   I 
suppose ;  that  is,  after  I  see  what  Caleb  says.     But 
I  must  go  in  now.     You'd  better  go  home,  Sam. 
Come  over  in  a  day  or  two,  and  see  Caleb." 
"Give  me  a  kiss  before  I  go,  Mattie." 
"No,  I  won't  either.    Suppose  John  is  looking." 
"Well,  I  won't  press  you  now,  Mattie.    But  say, 
I  really  think  you  are  getting  your  second  youth. 
When  you  blushed  that  time  you  looked  like  a 
young  girl." 

"There !  you  run  along  home,  Sam  !"  she  replied. 
"You  act  just  as  you  used  to  at  school."  So  he 
went.  He  always  used  to  go  when  Mattie  told 
him  to,  at  school,  and  he  supposed  he  would  have 
to  do  as  she  said  now. 

"Won't  Marjorie  be  pleased!"  he  thought,  as 
he  crossed  the  meadow. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

DR.  SHERMAN'S  QUEST. 

Dr.  Sherman,  since  the  day  he  had  left  Marjorie 
in  the  rain,  had  been  working  incessantly  to  dis 
cover  if  possible  a  cure  for  lung  troubles.  He  had 
fitted  up  a  little  laboratory  off  of  his  office.  Night 
after  night  he  worked  over  the  problem  without 
any  satisfactory  results.  He  would  breakfast  in 
the  morning,  make  his  daily  calls,  then  hurry  home 
again,  and  if  there  were  no  urgent  cases,  throw 
himself  on  his  bed  and  snatch  a  few  hours'  sleep. 

"You  will  wear  yourself  out,  Sherman,"  Dr. 
Higgins  would  say.  "You  are  too  young  a  man 
to  throw  your  life  away.  Let  it  alone;  let  some 
one  who  has  more  time  on  his  hands  make  this  dis 
covery." 

"No,  I  can't  wait,"  he  would  reply.  "I  must 
find  it,  and  find  it  soon.  I  think  I  am  making 
some  progress;  but  it  is  slow  work,  and  there  is 


222  CALEB  ABBOTT 

nothing  sure.  I  must  have  some  animals  to  try 
it  on." 

"I  don't  like  it,"  his  good  wife,  Betsie,  would 
say.  "It  don't  seem  right  to  torture  the  poor  little 
creatures." 

"I  don't  torture  them,  Mrs.  Higgins,"  the  doc 
tor  would  reply.  "I  haven't  tried  it  on  them  yet, 
and  when  I  do,  it  will  only  make  them  sick.  Then 
I  shall  try  and  cure  them.  If  I  fail  I  will  put  them 
painlessly  out  of  their  sickness.  But  even  if  I 
should  torture  one  hundred  or  two  hundred  pigs 
and  rabbits,  and  save  one  human  life,  don't  you 
think  the  end  justifies  the  means?" 

"Yes,  perhaps  you  are  right,"  replied  the  good 
woman.  "But  you  are  ruining  your  health,  sitting 
up  nights." 

"No,  I  don't  think  so,"  he  said.  "It  takes  a 
good  deal  to  break  down  a  strong,  healthy  young 
man  like  me.  I  know  that  to  you  who  have  the 
simple,  country  habits,  to  bed  at  eight  and  up  at 
five,  it  seems  as  if  we  could  not  stand  it.  But  I 
could  tell  you  of  cases  in  my  college  days,  of  young 
men,  some  of  them  of  not  over  strong  constitutions 
either,  who  would  be  out  night  after  night  and 


CALEB  ABBOTT  223 

all  night  long  dissipating,  playing  poker,  perhaps, 
in  a  close,  smoky  room.  Yet  they  studied  all  day 
and  seldom  broke  down.  It's  the  excitement  that 
keeps  them  up.  I'll  admit  it's  bad  for  the  nerves, 
however." 

"Well,  you  are  of  age  and  you're  your  own  boss, 
so  we  can't  interfere,"  replied  Dr.  Higgins.  "But 
do  try  and  get  some  sleep." 

Toward  winter  he  had  made  progress  enough  to 
try  the  remedy  upon  animals.  He  had  offered  the 
boys  of  the  village  twenty-five  cents  apiece  for 
every  live  rabbit  they  would  bring  him.  The  boys 
were  doing  a  big  business  and  you  could  go  no 
where  in  the  woods  or  through  the  swamps  with 
out  coming  across  box  traps  of  every  description. 
Many  a  fight  there  was  that  winter  when  some  Bill 
would  discover  his  traps  empty  and  accuse  a  Jim 
of  swiping  his  rabbits. 

Marjorie  did  not  improve.  Mr.  Upton  decided 
to  take  her  to  New  Mexico  for  a  change  during 
the  winter.  The  doctor  had  insisted  that  she  must 
go.  The  New  England  winters  were  too  severe 
for  her  constitution,  and  so,  at  last,  much  against 
her  own  inclination,  Marjorie  promised  to  go. 


224  CALEB  ABBOTT 

Mr.  Upton  had  talked  with  Caleb,  who  was  pleased 
that  his  mother's  future  was  so  well  provided  for. 
"It  is  just  as  she  says,"  said  Caleb.  "We  shall  be 
quite  a  happy  family  here  in  Rushton." 

As  Mr.  Upton  and  Marjorie  were  going  West  it 
was  arranged  to  have  the  wedding  before  they 
went.  It  was  just  a  quiet  home  wedding.  Mrs. 
Abbott  was  dressed  in  a  tailor  made  traveling  suit 
of  soft  color.  No  one  except  the  parson  was 
nervous  in  the  least.  He,  poor  man,  had  never 
even  attended  a  wedding  amidst  such  elegant  sur 
roundings,  and  he  was  so  busy  gazing  at  the  beau 
tiful  bric-a-brac  with  which  the  house  was  rilled 
that  he  almost  forgot  where  he  was  in  the  service. 
When  the  ceremony  was  over  and  Mr.  Upton, 
receiving  his  congratulations,  took  the  parson's 
hand  and  left  shining  in  it  a  hundred  dollars  in 
gold,  the  good  parson  nearly  fainted. 

"I  think  you  have  made  a  mistake,  Mr.  Upton," 
he  at  last  managed  to  say.  "We  don't  get  but  two 
dollars  here  in  the  country." 

"My  good  man,"  answered  Mr.  Upton,  "if  I  had 
been  married  in  New  York  the  flowers  alone 
would  have  cost  more  than  that,  and  here  I  have 


CALEB  ABBOTT  225 

had  no  cost  at  all.  Take  it,  it  is  not  too  much,  and 
in  the  future,  when  I  return,  we  shall  see  what  we 
can  do  to  fix  up  the  parsonage  a  little." 

A  day  or  two  before  they  left  for  New  Mexico 
Dr.  Sherman  called  professionally  on  Marjorie. 
He  told  her  that  no  matter  how  homesick  she  felt 
she  must  stay  until  the  winter  was  over  at  the 
north.  "Don't  return  before  April,"  he  said,  "and 
if  you  can  stay  until  June  it  will  be  better  for  you. 
I  am  more  interested  than  you  think,  Miss  Upton, 
in  your  health,"  he  added.  "I  love  you,  Marjorie. 
I  have  loved  you  ever  since  that  Thanksgiving 
night." 

"Please  don't,  Doctor  Sherman." 

"Wait,  Marjorie,  let  me  finish.  Ever  since  that 
sleigh  ride  which  was  the  beginning  of  happiness 
in  my  life,  I  have  known  that  your  heart  was  given 
to  another.  No,"  he  went  on,  as  she  looked  at 
him  in  astonishment,  "no  one  told  me.  I  saw  it 
myself.  I  want  you  to  get  well.  I  want  you  to 
forget  that  love,  which  is  lost  to  you  now.  I  want 
you  to  get  well  and  strong,  and  learn  to  love  me, 
if  you  can.  I  will  wait.  Only  tell  me  that  I  may 
hope." 


226  CALEB  ABBOTT 

"Doctor,"  she  answered,  "you  surprise  me  very 
much.  I  did  not  know.  I  never  even  guessed  that 
you  loved  me;  that  you  thought  of  me  more  than 
a  friend." 

"But  I  do,  Marjorie  dear.  You  are  all  the  world 
to  me.  I  don't  ask  for  your  hand  now.  I  am  will 
ing  to  wait,  to  wait  until  the  old  wound  is  healed. 
Yes,  wait  for  years,  if  I  can  call  you  mine.  Prom 
ise  me  that  you  will  think  of  me  when  you  are 
gone.  Think  of  me,  working  day  and  night  that  I 
may  effect  a  cure  for  you ;  that  I  may  see  you  well 
and  strong." 

"Oh,  doctor,  you  are  so  good!  You  hurt  me. 
Don't  say  any  more,  please.  I  will  think  of  you.  I 
do  like  you  very  much.  If  I  get  well  again  who 
knows.  I  will  try,  try  to  forget." 

"Then  there  is  some  hope  for  me,  Marjorie?"  he 
exclaimed,  his  face  lighting  up.  "May  I — ?"  he 
asked,  taking  up  her  delicate,  small,  white  hand; 
and,  before  she  could  refuse  him  he  kissed  it.  He 
knew  he  had  no  right  to  expect  more,  yet  the 
remembrance  of  that  day  lasted  as  long  as  he  lived. 
Marjorie,  with  a  sad  smile,  said,  "Go  now,  please. 
Come  and  see  us  off,  won't  you?" 


CALEB  ABBOTT  227 

"Certainly,  Marjorie.  Goodbye,  for  the  pres 
ent." 

The  first  week  in  November  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Upton  and  Marjorie  left  for  New  Mexico.  The 
day  they  started  was  one  of  those  rare  Indian 
Summer  days.  The  grass  was  as  green  as  in  early 
spring,  and  the  cattle,  still  in  the  pasture,  looked 
up  as  if  in  sympathy  as  they  saw  the  little  party 
drive  by.  The  fields  were  full  of  Indian  corn 
shocked  but  not  yet  housed.  Each  shock  looked 
like  an  Indian  wigwam  in  the  bright  sunlight. 
Here  and  there  were  crows  hurrying  back  and 
forth  to  form  in  one  great  colony  for  their  journey 
south.  It  was  summer  to  all  appearances,  yet  by 
the  calendar  the  winter  was  almost  here.  Mar 
jorie  looked  at  the  familiar  scenes  as  they  drove 
along.  She  was  much  attached  to  Rushton  and  all 
its  nature.  Even  now  she  felt  homesick,  but  with 
a  brave  heart  she  joined  in  the  conversation. 
Hilda  drove  to  the  station  with  Caleb  to  see  them 
off.  The  doctor  also  came  to  the  depot  for  a  fare 
well.  Mary  Fleming  came  also  to  bid  her  good 
bye,  as  the  doctor  had  mentioned  to  her  that  Mar 
jorie  was  going  away.  In  her  hand  she  carried  a 


228  CALEB  ABBOTT 

bunch  of  wild  purple  asters  which  she  had  dis 
covered  in  a  corner  of  the  field  and  Marjorie  wore 
them  at  her  belt  as  she  started  out  upon  her  long 
journey. 

The  Uptons  took  a  southern  route,  and  Mar 
jorie  in  the  new  scenes  enjoyed  everything.  In 
such  comfort  did  they  travel  that  the  journey  did 
not  weary  her  much.  For  Mrs.  Upton,  who  had 
never  been  away  from  Rushton  in  her  life,  the  trip 
was  a  revelation.  Mr.  Upton,  giving  so  much 
pleasure  to  others,  was  as  happy  as  a  school  boy. 
After  arriving  in  New  Mexico  they  decided  to 
stop  at  Las  Vegas.  There,  amid  new  scenes  and 
surroundings,  together  with  the  clear,  pure  air, 
they  hoped  to  see  an  improvement  in  Marjorie. 
She  had  a  small  Indian  pony  to  ride,  but  the  rides 
tired  her  so  that  she  would  sit  for  a  large  part  of 
the  time  out  doors  or  wander  around  the  town, 
looking  with  curiosity  at  the  mud  houses  or 
laughing  at  the  antics  of  the  Indian  boys,  or  per 
haps  studying  the  gay  colors  worn  by  the  Mexi 
cans  and  cowboys.  Still  she  wished  she  was  back 
in  Rushton.  Why  was  it  that  when  she  thought 
of  Rushton  she  always  seemed  to  see  Dr.  Sher- 


CALEB  ABBOTT  229 

man  ?  And  as  she  saw  him  it  was  as  if  in  a  vision. 
It  did  not  seem  to  be  the  doctor;  but  some  one 
more  serious.  He  seemed  tired,  overworked,  sad ; 
not  the  bright,  happy,  active  man  she  had  known. 
As  the  winter  wore  away,  she  thought  of  him  more 
and  more,  and  longed  to  see  him.  She  did  not 
seem  to  improve;  the  cough  had  disappeared,  but 
with  that  exception  she  felt  the  same  constant 
tiredness.  Toward  spring  Marjorie  began  to 
count  the  days  until  she  could  go  home.  One  day 
when  she  felt  more  than  usually  tired  and  had  not 
left  her  room,  her  father  and  her  mother  had  come 
to  cheer  her  up. 

"Oh,  Papa,"  Marjorie  exclaimed,  "take  me 
home.  I  don't  want  to  stay  here.  I  am  going  to 
die.  Don't  cry,  Papa.  But  you  can't  hide  it  from 
me.  I  have  seen  the  look  on  your  face  so  often 
I  know  how  you  love  me,  and  you  too,  Mother," 
she  went  on  in  a  wild  way.  "But  it  is  God's  will. 
I  don't  want  to  die  here.  It  is  almost  spring. 
Take  me  home.  I  want  to  smell  the  Mayflowers 
once  again.  I  want  to  hear  the  robins  sing.  Oh, 
Papa,  I  am  so  lonesome.  I  want  to  see  Hilda  and 


230  CALEB  ABBOTT 

Caleb,  and  the  doctor,  and  all  our  friends.  Every 
thing  is  so  strange  here." 

"Yes,  Marjorie,  dear,  we  will  go  home,"  her 
father  replied,  chokingly.  The  tears  would  come, 
though  manlike  he  tried  hard  to  keep  them  back. 
"Spring  is  almost  here.  I  will  write  to  Sherman 
and  find  out  what  the  weather  is  in  Rushton.  You 
are  not  going  to  die.  Don't  talk  so,  Marjorie. 
We  will  be  at  home  soon." 

During  all  this  winter  Dr.  Sherman  had  been 
working  in  his  laboratory.  He  had  tried  his 
remedy  on  rabbit  and  guinea  pig  alike;  they 
all  sickened,  but  do  as  he  would  he  could  not  cure 
them.  Still  he  would  not  give  up.  He  was  mak 
ing  some  progress;  he  felt  sure  of  that.  He  was 
not  much  like  the  gay,  young  doctor  of  a  year 
ago;  poor  Mrs.  Higgins  was  very  much  worried. 
He  would  throw  himself  into  an  easy  chair  and 
doze  off  perhaps  for  a  few  minutes,  but  then  jump 
up  again  and  go  to  work.  Sleepless  nights  and 
sleepless  days  were  telling  on  him,  yet  he  would 
not  give  up.  Was  he  not  fighting  for  a  life,  fight 
ing  as  if  he  were  rescuing  some  one  from  drown 
ing?  Would  he  give  up  and  lose  his  hold  on  a 


CALEB  ABBOTT  231 

drowning  man  simply  because  he  was  tired?  No. 
So  he  kept  at  it,  until  one  day  towards  April,  when 
into  the  room  where  Mrs.  Higgins  and  the  old 
doctor  sat,  he  rushed  like  a  mad  man,  his  shirt 
sleeves  rolled  up,  his  hair  dishevelled,  wild-eyed, 
and  screaming: 

"I  have  found  it!  I  have  found  it!  My  pigs 
are  getting  better." 

"Good  Lord !  Sherman,  sit  down.  Betsie,  run 
and  get  a  cup  of  coffee  for  him."  And  Betsie 
who  had  been  reading  the  Christian  Herald, 
dropped  it  and  her  glasses  as  well,  to  hasten  to  the 
kitchen. 

"Now,  Sherman,  if  you  have  recovered  your 
better  senses,  sit  down  and  compose  yourself.  But 
first  you  better  take  a  little  valerian  for  your 
nerves." 

"No,  doctor,  I  don't  want  anything  for  my 
nerves.  I  am  all  right  now.  My  pigs  are  getting 
well." 

"Suppose  they  are  getting  well.  What  the 
devil  do  I  care  about  your  pigs?" 

"But  I  do,"  said  Dr.  Sherman.  "It  makes  all 
the  difference  in  the  world  to  me  whether  my  pigs 


232  CALEB  ABBOTT 

get  well  or  not.  It  means  the  most  beautiful  girl 
in  this  world  for  my  wife." 

"Well,  by  thunder!  you  are  crazy,  and  no  mis 
take.  I  knew  what  this  might  bring  you  to.  Stop 
it,  drop  it,  before  it  is  too  late."  But  Dr.  Sherman 
had  calmed  down  now,  and  when  Betsie  returned 
with  the  coffee,  he  related  all  that  he  had  done. 
He  also  told  the  dear  old  couple  of  his  love  for 
Marjorie.  Taking  up  his  hat  finally  he  arose  with : 

"But  I  must  be  off  now.  I  have  a  case.  The 
Daly  girl,  you  remember.  She  is  very  sick  with 
lung  trouble.  I  shall  try  my  remedy  upon  her. 
It  can  do  her  no  harm,  and  if  she  improves,  if  it 
cures  her,  it  will  cure  all  such  cases." 

"I  wish  you  success,  Sherman,"  replied  Dr. 
Higgins  as  he  departed.  "If  it  is  a  go,  you  will 
be  the  most  famous  man  of  the  age,  and  your  for 
tune  is  made." 

The  Daly  girl  did  improve,  and  rapidly.  In  fact 
she  improved  so  rapidly  that  Dr.  Sherman  was  sure 
he  had  at  last  discovered  the  secret  that  medical 
men  for  a  hundred  years  had  been  trying  to  solve. 
A  few  days  before  Mr.  Upton  had  decided  to  write 
him  Dr.  Sherman  dispatched  a  telegram  which 


CALEB  ABBOTT  233 

read  like  this:     "Samuel  Upton, Hotel,  Las 

Vegas,  New  Mexico.  Have  discovered  a  cure. 
Shall  I  come  to  you,  or  will  you  come  to  me?" 
Mr.  Upton,  not  wishing  to  give  Marjorie  false 
hope,  said  nothing  about  the  telegram  to  her,  but 
he  sent  the  following  answer  to  Dr.  Sherman: 
"Dr.  Sherman,  Rushton,  N.  H.  Congratulations 
on  your  success.  Will  leave  Las  Vegas  for  Rush- 
ton  at  once.  Will  telegraph  later  time  of  our 
expected  arrival." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

SQUIRE    CALEB. 

Caleb  had  now  all  the  law  business  he  could 
conveniently  attend  to.  He  had  been  counsel  on  a 
very  important  and  hard  fought  case,  and  he  had 
won.  His  name  was  already  familiar  all  over  the 
state  and  he  was  often  called  Squire  by  his  neigh 
bors.  They  were  even  talking  of  running  him  for 
the  legislature  next  year.  He  had  called  fre 
quently  on  Hilda  and  had  suggested  her  selling  the 
standing  timber  on  her  place  in  order  to  pay  off 
the  mortgage  on  the  property,  as  he  knew  it  was 
worrying  her  to  have  the  place  mortgaged.  She 
was  loth,  however,  to  have  the  beautiful  trees  and 
groves  destroyed  and  had  not  as  yet  decided.  One 
day  Caleb,  after  arriving  at  his  office,  opened  his 
morning  mail  and  was  surprised  at  receiving  a 
letter  from  a  New  York  firm  of  lawyers.  The 
letter  read  like  this : 


CALEB  ABBOTT  235 

New  York,  N.  Y. 
Caleb  Abbott,  Attorney  at  Law,  Rushton,  N.  H. 

Dear  Sir:  Several  years  ago  a  company  was 
formed  for  the  purpose  of  buying  land  and  claims 
in  the  Klondike  region.  It  was  known  as  the 
Klondike  Gold  and  Land  Company.  The  com 
pany  has,  however,  with  the  exception  of  purchas 
ing  some  claims,  done  no  business  whatever,  ow 
ing  to  their  lack  of  enterprise.  A  new  board  of 
directors  is  to  be  formed,  who  propose  to  go  ahead 
and  develop  some  of  the  claims.  To  do  this  will 
take  money,  and  the  new  board  propose  to  buy  in 
the  old  shares  now  outstanding  and  to  reorganize. 
There  are  a  few  shares  of  this  company  held  in 
your  town,  by  a  party  of  the  name  of  Cyrus  Whit 
ney.  We  desire  that  you  see  him  and  find  out  for 
us  what  price  he  sets  upon  his  shares.  If  you  can 
buy  them  cheap  we  will  make  it  an  object  to  you. 
Please  let  us  hear  from  you  soon. 
Respectfully, 

Fleecer,  Grabbal  &  Company. 

Caleb  reread  the  letter.  Then  a  broad  smile 
overspread  his  face.  "It  is  evident,"  he  said  to 
himself,  "those  shares  are  worth  something."  "If 
you  can  buy  them  cheap  we  will  make  it  an  object 
to  you,"  he  read  again.  "Well,  I  think  I  can  get 
them  cheap  enough,  but  I  am  afraid,  Messrs. 
Fleecer,  Grabbal  &  Company,  you  will  not  get 


236  CALEB  ABBOTT 

them  very  cheap.  I  think  I  shall  have  to  run  over 
to  New  York  myself,"  he  said  to  himself.  "That 
is,"  laughing,  "if  I  can  remove  the  country  airs. 
Let's  see,"  he  humorously  thought,  "I  must  re 
member  not  to  blow  out  the  gas!"  Ah,  Messrs. 
Fleecer,  Grabbal  &  Company,  you  little  thought 
when  you  wrote  to  the  country  lawyer  that  he  was 
one  of  the  most  interested  parties  in  those  stocks, 
and  that  the  hay  seed  had  already  blown  out  of  his 
hair. 

That  night  Caleb  called  on  Hilda  and  explained 
the  contents  of  the  letter.  He  also  told  her  that  he 
thought  there  was  something  back  of  it,  that  he 
believed  it  was  best  to  go  to  New  York  to  look 
into  the  matter  personally.  "That  is,  if  you  decide 
to  sell  the  shares." 

"You  know,  Caleb,"  she  replied,  "I  know  noth 
ing  of  business,  but  I  do  know  that  father  gave 
very  little  for  those  shares.  Now  I  do  not  care  to 
keep  them,  and  should  prefer  to  sell  them,  at  the 
best  figure  I  can  get  honestly." 

"Yes,"  replied  Caleb,  "I  don't  know  much  about 
stock  business  myself,  but  I  can  inquire,  and  if 


CALEB  ABBOTT  237 

these  stocks  are  listed,  then  I  can  find  out  the 
present  market  value." 

"I  will  leave  it  entirely  to  your  judgment, 
Caleb,"  she  replied.  "You  have  the  stocks  now  in 
your  safe,  and  you  can  fix  it  so  that  you  can  legally 
sell  them." 

"Suppose,  Hilda  dear,"  he  said,  "that  I  can  get 
a  good  price  for  them,  and  that  with  them  and 
some  of  the  timber  you  can  clear  your  home,  will 
you  set  the  day  then,  Hilda?" 

"Yes,  Caleb,"  she  replied  sweetly,  "then  I  will 
tell  you  when — " 

"When  I  am  to  be  the  happiest  man  in  the 
world,"  he  said,  before  she  had  finished. 

Caleb  went  to  New  York  the  next  week.  After 
making  a  tour  of  Wall  street,  and  also  making  a 
few  inquiries,  he  dropped  into  the  office  of  Fleecer, 
Grabbal  &  Company.  Making  known  his  errand 
he  was  ushered  into  the  private  office  of  Mr. 
Fleecer. 

"Take  a  chair,  Mr.  Abbott;  Abbott  I  believe  is 
the  name,"  he  said.  "Will  you  pardon  me  a  mo 
ment?  I  have  a  little  matter  here  I  wish  to  finish." 

"Certainly,"  said  Caleb.     "I  am  not  pressed  for 


238  CALEB  ABBOTT 

time,"  and  taking  up  the  morning  Herald  ran 
through  the  headlines.  Mr.  Fleecer  sat  at  his  desk 
apparently  very  busy  with  his  pen.  But  he  was 
in  reality  making  a  study  of  Caleb.  "Not  at  all 
like  the  Mr.  Abbott  I  pictured,"  he  said  mentally, 
"I  am  afraid  it  will  be  hard  getting  hold  of  those 
shares.  Now,  Mr.  Abbott,"  he  said,  wheeling 
around,  "about  those  shares  of  which  we  wrote 
you.  I  presume  you  have  seen  Mr.  Whitney  and 
obtained  them?" 

"No,"  Caleb  replied,  "Mr.  Whitney  is  dead.  I 
have,  however,  the  shares  in  my  possession." 

"Ah!"  said  Mr.  Fleecer,  "and  the  figure?" 

"Well,  I  have  not  quite  decided  as  yet  whether 
to  sell  or  not,"  replied  Caleb. 

"Oh,  I  see,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Fleecer.  "You 
bought  them  yourself.  Do  you  think,  Mr.  Abbott, 
that  was  quite  square  considering  our  confidential 
letter  to  yourself?" 

"I  did  not  say  I  had  bought  them,"  replied 
Caleb.  "But  in  regard  to  being  square ;  is  the 
stock  business  always  conducted  on  the  square 
here  in  New  York  and  elsewhere?  However,  I 
have  the  right  to  dispose  of  the  stocks  if  I  see  fit." 


CALEB  ABBOTT  239 

"Yes,"  replied  Mr.  Fleecer,  who  saw  he  had  a 
hard  subject  to  deal  with,  "and  the  price?" 

"Well,"  answered  Caleb,  slowly,  "I  should  like 
an  offer.  Then  I  might  say  whether  I  would  sell 
or  not." 

"Ahem,"  began  Mr.  Fleecer,  "they  are  worth 
five  hundred  to  us." 

"A  share,  Mr.  Fleecer?"  asked  Caleb  with  a 
twinkle  in  his  eye. 

"A  share?"  replied  Fleecer.  "Are  you  crazy, 
man?  Five  hundred  for  the  lot!"  Caleb  had 
arisen  and  taken  a  step  toward  the  door.  "Wait, 
you  are  not  going?"  asked  Mr.  Fleecer. 

"You  have  made  me  an  offer  which  I  cannot 
consider.  I  suppose  the  matter  rests  there." 

"Perhaps  not;  I  have  made  you  an  offer;  now 
suppose  you  state  your  price." 

"Very  well,  Mr.  Fleecer,  you  may  have  our 
shares  for  just  five  thousand  dollars  cash,  or  a  cer 
tified  check,"  said  Caleb. 

"Five  thousand  dollars!"  screamed  Mr.  Fleecer, 
almost  jumping  from  his  chair.  "Is  that  your  low 
est  figure?" 

"The  very  lowest,"  answered  Caleb,  "unless  you 


240  CALEB  ABBOTT 

wish  Messrs.  Skinflint,  Doem  &  Company  to  have 
them  for  four  thousand  five  hundred." 

"Have  you  seen  Messrs.  Skinflint,  Doem  & 
Company?"  asked  Fleecer. 

"I  have,"  answered  Caleb,  "and  their  offer  is 
four  thousand  five  hundred." 

"Is  it  your  intention  to  return  to  Skinflint, 
Doem  &  Company,  and  ask  more,  quoting  our 
offer?" 

"No,"  said  Caleb.  "I  have  given  you  our  fig 
ures.  I  will  close  the  deal  at  once  if  you  are 
ready." 

"I  will  give  you  a  certified  check,  Mr.  Abbott, 
but  it  is  really  more  than  the  shares  are  worth. 
Still  we  wish  to  control  the  board  of  directors  and 
with  the  addition  of  those  shares  we  can  just  beat 
out  Skinflint,  Doem  &  Company." 

Caleb  left  New  York  five  thousand  richer  than 
when  he  arrived,  and  he  did  not  blow  out  the  gas 
either. 

"Won't  Hilda  be  pleased?"  he  thought,  as,  sit 
ting  in  the  smoking-compartment  on  his  way 
back  with  a  fine  Havana  between  his  teeth,  he  fig 
ured  out  that  five  thousand  would  much  more  than 


CALEB  ABBOTT  241 

clear  her  home,  and  that  her  beautiful  trees  would 
not  have  to  be  felled. 

Marjorie,  together  with  her  father  and  mother, 
had  returned;  and  Marjorie  was  again  under  Dr. 
Sherman's  care.  She  was  improving,  moreover, 
she  was  able  to  take  short  walks  and  drives,  and 
rejoice  with  her  favorites  again,  the  birds  and  the 
flowers.  A  pair  of  robins  had  built  their  nest  in 
the  apple  tree  almost  beneath  her  chamber  win 
dow.  Marjorie  took  great  delight  in  dropping 
crumbs  to  them  from  her  window  above;  while 
they  in  return  would  sing  their  sweetest. 

Jack  Stevens  had  leased  the  Abbott  place;  he 
had  married  a  sweet  little  lady  from  Boston  and 
they  had  started  upon  their  housekeeping. 

Hilda  had  set  the  day  which  was  to  mean  so 
much  for  Caleb  and  her,  in  October.  She  often 
ran  over  to  see  Marjorie.  The  engagement  be 
tween  herself  and  Caleb  she  never  mentioned  to 
Marjorie,  fearing  to  cause  her  sorrow,  as  Hilda 
knew  Marjorie's  secret.  Great  was  her  surprise 
when  one  day  Marjorie  mentioned  it  herself,  and 
also  expressed  a  wish  to  stand  up  with  her  at  the 
wedding. 


242  CALEB  ABBOTT 

"Oh,  Marjorie,"  Hilda  exclaimed,  "if  you  only 
would !  Could  you  do  it?" 

"And  why  not?"  replied  Marjorie.  "Am  I  not 
getting  well  and  strong  again?" 

"Yes,  indeed,"  said  Hilda,  "and  we  are  all  so 
glad ;  but— " 

"Oh,  I  know  what  you  would  say,  Hilda,"  Mar 
jorie  interrupted,  "but  you  need  not  fear.  I  have 
almost  forgotten  that.  You  know,"  with  a  blush, 
"there  is  another  who  is  noble,  too.  I  will  give 
you  just  one  guess,  Hilda,  dear,"  said  Marjorie, 
"so  put  on  your  thinking  cap." 

"Let's  see,"  said  Hilda.  "There's  your  cousin, 
in  New  York,  that  you  have  often  spoken  of,  but 
you  haven't  mentioned  him  lately,  so  it  cannot  be 
he.  There's  Mr.  Stevens,  but  he  is  already  mar 
ried.  And  the  doctor, —  Why!  that's  my  guess, 
Marjorie,  Doctor  Sherman !"  and  she  could  tell  by 
the  color  in  Marjorie's  cheeks  that  she  had  guessed 
aright.  "Oh,  Marjorie,  I  am  so  pleased!"  Then, 

girl-like,  they  fell  into  each  other's  arm  and  cried. 

***** 
If  you  are  driving  with  a  native  through  New 
Hampshire   today   and   happen   to   pass   through 


CALEB  ABBOTT  243 

Rushton  that  native  will  have  a  very  busy  time 
describing  this  hustling  town.  He  will  tell  you 
that  eight  years  ago  at  the  time  of  the  flood  Rush- 
ton  was  a  small  way-back  town ;  with  one  store  and 
a  small  front  room  in  a  cottage  house  for  a  post 
office.  He  will  tell  you  that  today  the  population 
has  more  than  doubled ;  that  the  town  has  concrete 
sidewalks,  electric  lights,  new  buildings ;  and  fame ! 
"See  that  big  brick  building  way  off  there  on  the 
hill  ?  That's  the  Sherman  Hospital  for  the  cure  of 
consumptives !  They  are  establishing  hospitals  for 
the  cure  all  over  the  country,  but  that  is  the  first 
one.  You  know  this  Doctor  Sherman  practiced 
in  this  town  and  discovered  the  cure  here.  Later, 
he  sold  out  his  practice,  and  now  he  gives  his 
whole  time  to  the  hospital  work.  He's  making 
lots  of  money,  but  then  he  doesn't  need  it.  He 
married  Samuel  Upton's  daughter.  He  was  a 
New  York  banker,  retired,  who  bought  a  place 
here.  He's  worth  a  million,  so  they  say.  He  is 
the  richest  man  in  town.  That  house  there  we 
just  passed  was  where  Caleb  Abbott  was  born  and 
lived.  You've  heard  of  him  of  course.  He's  been 
to  the  legislature  and  they  talk  of  sending  him  to 


244  CALEB  ABBOTT 

Washington  to  Congress  next  year.  He  married 
old  Shylock  Whitney's  daughter.  You  remember 
old  Shylock,  the  money  lender.  He  was  worth 
over  a  hundred  thousand  at  one  time,  and  then 
lost  it  all  in  stocks.  That's  where  he  used  to  live; 
that  big  house  up  there;  we'll  go  by  it  in  a  minute. 
Squire  Abbott  lives  there  now.  He  and  his  wife, 
Shylock's  daughter.  This  Squire  Abbott?  He's  a 
wonder,  a  self-made  man.  Made  his  mark  inside 
eight  years,  and  ain't  thirty  yet,  and  he's  the 
second  richest  man  in  town  today." 


THE    END. 


Date  Due 


55)604448    3 


